


Phantom Traveler

by TinkerbellBleu



Series: The Ties That Bind [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 16+, Action/Adventure, Alternate Timeline, Cliche, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Epistolary, F/M, Fanfiction, Fluff, Horror, Humor, Join The Hunt, Language, Major Character, Novella, OC, OFC - Freeform, Original Character - Freeform, Original Female Character - Freeform, Plot, Reboot, Rewrite, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Sass, Schmoop, Season 1, Series, Slow Burn, Snark, Subtext, Supernatural - Freeform, Team Free Will, The Family Business, Violence, arc, crosspost, hunting things, mostly canon, phantom traveler, saving people, smut-lite, spoiler - Freeform, trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-01-01 05:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 40,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18329897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinkerbellBleu/pseuds/TinkerbellBleu
Summary: The Ties That Bind ~ Season 1: Episode 3 "Phantom Traveler"After receiving a phone call from an old acquaintance, Sam, Dean, and Skye head to Pennsylvania to try and prevent a disaster that could kill dozens...themselves included. Can Skye and Dean quit flirting long enough to get the job done? Can Sam keep from smothering them both in their sleep? Can androids dream of electric sheep? Find out in 'Phantom Traveler'.Saving people, hunting things, the family business.Join the hunt.





	1. Prologue

_The Personal Journal of Skye Winchester_

 

_I don’t know that anyone will ever read this and yet I still find myself having trouble deciding what stories to tell. What’s going to be relevant and educational to future Hunters while still telling the story of my twisted, messed up, convoluted, wonderful life?_   
_I couldn’t make up my mind this time, so this one was chosen by my brother and friend Cas._   
_I know, I haven’t introduced you to him yet but I will when it’s time. For now, it’s enough to know that he exists and this story is one of his favorites._   
_Mine too._   
_This is the job where Dean realized, and I quote, ‘I was totally fucked forever and it’s all your fault, Tinkerbell’._   
_Such charm, that man. Such a way with words. Downright poetical some days._   
_What he meant to say, I’m sure, is that he realized he loved me and decided he was going to marry me someday._   
_Of course, this was only a month or so after we met so if you had any doubts as to his sanity, I trust I’ve put those to rest...just keep in mind, I never claimed to be sane either._

* * *

X*X*X*X*X

* * *

Author's Note: The full series index and updates for 'Supernatural: The Ties That Bind: can be found [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19786306)


	2. Chapter 2

 

Pulling up in front of the shabby little motel they'd been staying in, Sam killed the engine and pocketed the keys. Opening the driver's side door, he grabbed the three large coffees and the box of donuts off the seat next to him before stepping out into the chill early December morning. The shaggy-haired giant kicked the door shut behind him, expertly balancing everything in his over-sized gigantor hands to unlock the motel room door. Stepping inside, he took a second to adjust to the change in light before closing the door behind him.

The room itself was pretty representative of its species. Green on ugly green checked wallpaper, dun-colored curtains, table, dresser, tv, etc, etc. Just like every other shitty motel in the lower forty-eight. Probably Alaska and Hawaii as well but none of the three occupants had ever been, so that was up for debate. You know the trope of the protagonist checking himself out in the mirror? Well…

The tall, dark and handsome 6'5" 220-pound man with the puppy-dog eyes set his armload of sugar and caffeine down on the small table, glancing at himself in the mirror. Tan jacket, blue button-up, dark blue t-shirt and jeans, hair just a tad too long to stay out of his eyes…eh, it could be worse. He'd never had a problem getting female attention, though it wasn't quite on a par with his older brother, but then, he'd never really tried to keep up. Hell lately, even Dean wasn't keeping up with Dean.

….how's that for a cliched description? Good? Good. Speaking of Dean...

Turning around, he kicked the blue air mattress lying on the floor between the two Queen beds, "Morning, Sunshine."

Muttering something obscene and flipping Sam off, the handsome dark-haired young man with the candy-apple green eyes rolled over and pretended for a minute that he'd actually be able to go back to sleep. It was a nice daydream for the whole two seconds it lasted. Of course, he'd come awake as soon as the motel room door had opened, a hand going to the knife tucked under the left-hand corner of the air mattress. He knew from experience the shapeless lump of girl on the real bed next to him had most likely done something similar.

He stretched, his 6'2" self clad in a blue t-shirt and blue-gray boxer-briefs, an odd little amulet around his neck. It had been a Christmas present from Sammy when they were kids and he never took it off if he could avoid it. Rolling over, his minimal clothing pulling taut over a body every bit as muscled as his younger brother, though he tended toward a broader build as opposed to Sammy's lean frame. Kicking the air mattress again, harder this time, Sam smirked down at his older brother when Dean rolled over to look up at him, "What time is it?"

"Uh, about 5:45." Still smirking, Sam managed not to laugh at the disgusted face Dean gave him.

"In the morning?" The outrage in his voice was comical to his two companions, though the lump on the bed still hadn't shown any outward signs of life. Groaning, Dean pushed himself up onto his elbows, "Where does the day go…,"

Sitting up, he rubbed a knot out of his left shoulder. Sleeping on the floor, even on an air mattress, wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world. Granted, he'd dealt with worse, but when there was a perfectly nice bed right there and the girl in it only took up like two inches of space… It had been almost three weeks since their last case and the relationship between him and the 5'0" 98-pound 18-year-old with the dancer's body, who was still pretending to be dead in the bed next to him, had improved considerably. Maybe not as considerably as he'd like, but he was working on that whole patience thing.

Since meeting just over a month ago, they'd gone from brutally antagonistic to grudgingly civil to downright flirtatious. Considering they were literally stuck with each other, the flirtatious was a lot better overall than the antagonistic had been. Still…They weren't to the point of sharing a bed.  _Yet._ He tended to get what he wanted, by pure annoying tenacity if nothing else.

They'd ended up buying an air mattress to solve the issue of sleeping arrangements. That asshole Sam never had to sleep on the air mattress. He didn't fit. It had turned into a contest every night to see who 'won' the right to sleep on the floor and who 'lost' and got the bed. Originally it had been whoever lost got the floor. That ended after Skye dumped a glass of ice water over Dean's head when she figured out he was throwing the games to let her have the bed. That's gratitude for you. Now he actually had to  _try_  to beat her and she was damned smart. Quick too, learning new skills and games at a speed that made even Sam's head spin, and he was the brains of the operation. Well, so some people thought…

In actuality, Dean was the de facto leader of their little cadre, through unspoken consensus, though how that had happened Dean had no fucking clue. He certainly hadn't gotten a say.

It was Dean who decided they were taking some time off to get Skye as up to speed as possible in the three weeks since their last case. By now, she'd read through the journal that had belonged to John that contained everything about every evil thing he knew. There'd also been assigned reading from Sam, a dozen books picked from various bookstores and libraries, like High School only the final exam was not dying horribly.

It was also Dean that got to teach her weapons and self-defense, which was turning out to be way more interesting than he'd originally thought it'd be. She learned fast and wasn't afraid to ask questions and admit when there was something she didn't know or didn't understand. They hadn't been fighting like Dean would have thought. The opposite, in fact. Once they stopped sniping at each other, they clicked surprisingly well.

Now if only Dean could get her to share the bed...and maybe dinner and drinks...and breakfast. Not that they didn't share that anyway.

Reluctantly getting to his feet, he sat his happy ass on the side of the bed and nudged the pile'o'girl that was curled up, taking up exactly a quarter of the mattress. See? Plenty of room. Dammit.

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey." Bouncing the mattress, he made sure to be as irritating as possible, "Time to get up, Tinkerbell."

Grumbling, she peered out from under the scratchy motel blanket, giving him dirty looks with those whiskey-brown eyes he was growing rather fond of, "What if I were vegan?"

"Wakey wakey, sadness and regret? Seriously, I'd cry." The man was a little too fond of cheeseburgers and bacon, much to the despair of his cholesterol levels, "Come on, Sammy brought coffee and donuts."

Grabbing the bottom of the blanket, Sam started slowly pulling it off of her, announcing he was firmly on the side of the Obnoxious One without having to say a word. Two against one is just rude.

"Watch it, Slim Jim." Flipping over, propped herself up on her elbows and glared at the tall drink of caffeine and hair, "I will shave your head in your sleep."

"I would pay to see that." Like the girl needed encouragement to pop her mouth off. Pulling out his wallet, Dean started to open it, "Seriously, I have cash."

Making a half-hearted grab for the blanket again, she quickly gave it up as a bad job, reluctantly dragging her pajama-clad ass into the land of the living, "Did I hear it was 5:45?"

"Nope, now it's 5:57." Glancing at his watch to confirm, Sam whistled dramatically, "Day's half gone already, lazy brat."

Forcing himself to his feet, Dean shuffled over to the table and grabbed two cups of coffee, returning to offer one in tribute to the grouchy sleep-deprived teenager. With a smile of thanks, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, gratefully taking the caffeine before removing her gun from beneath her pillow. A Sig Sauer 1911 Ultra Compact 9mm Dean had modified with slim grips and short trigger...not that anyone cares about that sort of thing.

It's a gun. It's loud and it kills things. That's all anyone really needs to know, isn't it.

As far as firearms go, it was a cute little thing, well she thought so anyway. She'd been getting decent with it lately too, Dean taking her out shooting nearly every day in an effort to get her as good as possible as quickly as possible. Lives could very well depend on it. Besides, it was fun, and a lot more interesting than she'd thought it'd be.

Placing the 9mm and her coffee on the table squeezed in between the two beds, she got to her feet and stretched, fingers laced together and hands extended over her head. A move of which Dean was deeply appreciative. Course he'd be more so if she weren't wearing Sam's t-shirt. Damn thing was a dress on her, no chance of it riding up and showing a little skin. Perv.

Catching him watching and, being every bit the dainty lady, she flipped him off while calling his ancestry into question. Grinning, he held out his hands, a signal for their habitual game of rock paper scissors. Whoever won got to shower first. Not much of a challenge, Dean always chose scissors.

As expected, Skye won and stuck her tongue out at him before laying a hand on his arm and flashing him a quick grin. Grabbing her beat up knapsack, she disappeared into the bathroom.  **Never to be seen again.**

Okay, so that's a lie, but wouldn't that be a fucked up way to go?

* * *

"You know." Looking at his brother with an expression that read equal parts amusement and exasperated tolerance, Sam smiled, "She knows you lose on purpose."

"Yeah, I know. And she knows I know...but she lets me have this one 'cause it makes me feel like a good guy. It's an unspoken agreement to pretend ignorance." Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dean took a long drink of the still too-hot coffee, not bothering to notice as it seared a layer off his tongue. Narrowing his eyes at his little brother, Dean looked at him over the rim of his coffee cup, "You get any sleep last night?"

"Yeah, I grabbed a couple of hours." If by 'a couple hours' he meant a couple of hours in five-minute increments, then he wasn't entirely lying.

"Bullshit." Not like Dean had a problem calling someone out when they were full of it, "'Cause I was up at 3 and you were watching a George Foreman infomercial."

"Hey, what can I say? It's riveting TV." Shrugging, Sam tried to play it off with a boyish grin before raising a brow, the grin turning into a smirk, "Besides, what were you doing up at 3, creeper?"

Like he didn't know the answer. The reason, of course, had to do with the girl. Surprise, surprise. See, sometimes she had nightmares. No big shocker there if you knew the girl's background, which was horrific, to put it mildly. Over the last couple of weeks, Dean had slowly realized the girl had a tell when she was about to have a particularly bad one. She'd whimper, so faint it was the next thing to inaudible, and curl up into a little ball. It had taken exactly two nights for Dean to train himself to wake up to that specific sound. Now when she was about to have a bad dream, he'd get up and sit next to her. Without waking her, he'd talk softly to her until she settled down again. As soon as she knew someone she trusted was there, she'd slip back into the not-so-bad dreams. And the only people in the entire world she trusted were in that room. Sickeningly sweet, right?

Sam figured Skye would likely shrivel up and die of embarrassment if she knew, but neither man had any intention of telling her. It was certainly a flashing neon sign that what had started out as a crush on Dean's part was rapidly turning into something more...and damned if Sam was going to pass up the opportunity to make fun of him.

"Shut up." Grabbing a pillow off the bed, Dean flung it at his brother's head before snagging his bag off the floor, "When's the last time you got a good night's sleep?"

"May 3rd, 1999." Leaning over, Sam let the cotton-stuffed missile sail by his head to thump against the wall behind him, unable to resist giving a smartass answer, " ...a little while, I guess. It's not a big deal."

"Yeah, it is." Running a hand through his tousled dark hair, Dean stifled a yawn and pulled a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt out of his bag, throwing in a dark blue button-up over that as no one in this little ensemble was capable of wearing less than two layers. The better to hide the tell-tale signs of concealed weaponry.

"Look, I appreciate your concern-"

"Oh, I'm not concerned about you." Lies. "It's your job to keep our asses alive, we need you sharp."

The 'uh huh, sure, okay' look on Sam's face expressed Sam's thoughts on that.

"Seriously, you still havin' nightmares about Jess?" The concern in Dean's voice was genuine, he was worried about his little brother.

Sighing, Sam ambled over to the bed and dropped down to sit on the bed, coffee in hand. Tossing his clothes down, Dean joined him, sitting across from him on the other bed.

"Yeah," he admitted, wrapping his hands around the cup he held, "...only it's not just her. It's everything. I just forgot, you know. This job. Man, it gets to you."

"Well, you can't let it." Leaning forward, Dean propped his elbows on his knees and looked at Sam, "You can't bring it home with you like that."

"Never?" He knew Dean wasn't the kind to admit to a weakness, but Sam didn't believe it for a second, "You're never afraid?"

"No, not really." Liar liar, Mom's on fire and burning on the ceiling… Pushing the image away, Dean stuffed it back where it belonged. It was always lurking there at the edge of sanity and when he did have nightmares, that was usually a prominent feature. Then there were the nightmares about something happening to Sammy, or more common lately, something happening to Skyler. Not that he'd admit any of it. Because he was a stubborn hard-headed dick. Or so he'd been told.

Making a wordless noise of disbelief, Sam reached down and lifted the corner of the air mattress, picking up the very large knife Dean slept with every night. Well, not every night. On bad nights, it was a gun.

"So what's this, a teddy bear?"

"That is not fear." Dean took his knife back from Sam, a wry half-smile on his lips, "That-that is precaution."

"Yeah, whatever." He knew better, not buying what Dean was selling but.., "I'm too tired to argue.

Opening the bathroom door, a freshly-showered Skye emerged, dressed in boot-cut skinny jeans, a black tank-top that read 'That's A Terrible Idea...What Time?' across the chest and blue socks with little dinosaurs being beamed up by UFOs. Quirky. Or just crazy. Depends on who you ask.

Before teaming up with the Winchester's, Skye had never really gotten the opportunity to pick out her own clothes. Now that she could, she tended to go a little out of her way to find the snarkiest, weirdest items she could. And loved every damn bit of it.

"Am I interruptin' somethin'? Why does Dean have his security blanket out?" She stopped in the doorway, eyeing the boys and the knife in Dean's hand, "If you guys are fightin', my money's on Sam."

"Security blanket? This coming from the girl who sleeps with a loaded gun six inches from her face." Sticking his tongue out at her in a fit of childishness, he grabbed his bag and tucked the knife away before grabbing a change of clothes, "Also...ouch. Words hurt, Tink."

"Uh huh, sure they do." Turning slowly on her heel, she watched Dean disappear into the bathroom before grabbing her boots from the floor at the end of the bed. Sitting, she pulled them on, looking up at Sam as she tucked her silver butterfly knife into the left one, "...you get any sleep last night, you look exhausted."

Groaning, Sam collapsed backward onto the bed behind him and kicked his feet in a faux mini-tantrum, "Don't you start."

He got a pillow to the face for that little performance.

"I take it Dean already asked?" Tugging the legs of her jeans down over the tops of her boots, she got back to her feet and looked at him with concern before grabbing the dark red button-up she'd stolen from Dean three weeks ago. And refused to return. In spite of the fact that it was huge and she had to roll up the sleeves.

"Yeah, yeah he did."

He looked a little cranky until she held out her hands, palms out to placate the moody Sasquatch, "Alright, I won't harp on it. Suffice to say I have stated my concern and we'll leave it at that."

Walking over to Sam, she leaned over and gave him a brief hug, which he returned one-handed. For a girl who couldn't stand to be touched at all just six short weeks ago, she'd made a remarkable amount of progress in turning into a normal human. Well, as normal as any of them were ever likely to get. A hug wasn't as big a deal as it was a month ago, but it was still a significant thing and spoke volumes about the trust she had in Sam.

Crossing the room, she could hear the shower running through the closed bathroom door. Raising a hand, she knocked and cracked the door enough to be heard over the water, "I don't suppose you could hand me my brush? I left it by the sink."

"You wish, Winchester." Judging by the look on Skye's face, Dean's reply was likely something obscene. Shutting the door, she leaned against the wall and gave Sam a grin, "He's gettin' it."

Opening the door, Dean stuck a dripping arm out, brush in hand. Snagging it, she thanked him and may or may not have tried, with partial success, to sneak a quick peek through the door before it closed. Running the brush through her hair as she walked back across the room, she quickly had it twisted back up into the braid she always wore, "Your brother seems to think I forgot it on purpose just so I could try and get a glimpse of him all soapy."

"Well…" Getting up to get a donut from the box he'd left on the table, he figured he knew the answer, "Did you?"

It was a legitimate question. Right behind him, Skye snagged a chocolate frosted monstrosity for herself, "I refuse to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself."

"That's what I thought." Laughing, he managed to eat half a maple long-john in one bite and not choke. Taking a minute to chew and swallow before speaking, a skill Dean had yet to learn, Sam shook his head in exasperation at the girl, "Skye, why don't you two just-just go to dinner or something. A movie. Whatever. Give the guy a shot before his head explodes."

"You back to playing matchmaker, Sam?" She'd thought he'd give that up and was both exasperated and amused that he hadn't. Exaspermused? Amusperated? What-the-fuck-ever.

Collapsing into the worn out chair that had probably once looked like it wasn't covered in tetanus, Sam gave a cheeky grin, "Not...exactly."

Pondering the problem, he finished off his donut, devouring the last bit as a cell phone started ringing. It wasn't Skye's, hers was in her bag in the bathroom and had a different ringtone. Tracking it down to the pocket of the jeans Dean had been wearing the night before, she fished out the little gray flip phone and looked at Sam. Shrugging, he gestured for her to answer it.

"Dean's pants." Dropping down onto the bed, she answered, not even trying to go for professional or in any way mature, "He's not in them right now."

" _Uh yeah, hi. This is Jerry Panowski, I was uh-was hoping to talk to Dean."_

"Hello Jerry Panowski." Licking chocolate off her fingers, she figured by the tone of his voice that this was a gig, "He's in the shower. I can get him for you or I can take a message, up to you."

" _Well I uh-I don't know…"_

"So it's definitely a 'who you gonna call' kinda problem and you're worried I'm gonna think you're a nutjob if you leave a message. Gotcha. Hold up a sec and I'll get him for you." Bouncing to her feet, she crossed to the bathroom door and knocked again, "Hey Winchester, you got a call."

Leaning against the wall, she held out the phone as the door popped open, a damp shirtless Dean stepping out. Snagging the phone from her, he turned his back to her, letting her take the opportunity to enjoy the view. Just jeans was an excellent look for the man. Damn shame society insisted people wear clothes. Not like he needed the encouragement, but damn he really was a good looking guy. He was A Terrible Horrible No Good Bad Idea….but so fucking pretty. It didn't hurt to appreciate the beauty of the human form. In her dreams. Nightly. Ugh. Flipping Sam off when she noticed him noticing her noticing Dean, she disappeared into the bathroom just long enough to grab her bag.

Phone to his ear, Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, "Hello?"

" _Dean, it's Jerry Panowski. You and your Dad helped me out a couple years back?"_

"Oh, right yeah, up in Kittanning, Pennsylvania. The poltergeist thing. ...it's not back, is it?"

"Love that movie." Skye piped up, adding her two cents before grabbing her Discman and pulling her headphones on. The Discman and the CD's she owned were her most prized possessions, not that she had a lot of those, and most of what she had was courtesy of Dean. The man could be kind of sweet when he tried. Clipping the Discman to the waistband of her jeans with the handy dandy belt clip, she pressed play and danced to the groovy tunes of All Time Low as she packed up their stuff, singing to herself quietly enough to not disturb the boys, ".. _.she's trouble in a tank-top. Pretty little time bomb, blowin' up take you down…"_

Lost In Stereo. Excellent song.

Sixteen years of dance and gymnastics classes showed in the way she moved, even just dancing around the room tending to be a performance usually involving moon-walking at least once. The boys had largely gotten used to it, Sam simply ignoring it beyond a tolerantly affectionate smile. Dean on the other hand… Well, he made it a point to enjoy it at every possible opportunity. Scooting back on the bed, he leaned back against the headboard, eyes stuck to the girl like she was the spokesman for Gorilla Glue. Long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle, phone still stuck to his ear, only half his attention on the man on the other end of the line.

" _No, no it's not back, thank God. But it's something else. And uh...well I think it could be a lot worse."_

"What is it?" Worse? Okay, that got a little more of his attention. What could be worse than that damn poltergeist? That had not been a fun job. Okay, well, maybe it had been a little fun, but still...worse was bad. ...how the hell did she spin like that without getting dizzy? With an effort, he pulled his attention back to the phone.

" _Can we talk in person?"_

"Huh? Oh, yeah, not a problem." They'd certainly taken a long enough break. Skye was about as ready as she was going to get without some first-hand experience. It was good timing for a job, "Where are you, Jerry?"

Getting to his feet, Dean grabbed his bag and dug out a pen and paper, scribbling down the address and holding up the slip of paper after ending the conversation, "We got one."


	3. Chapter 3

As luck would have it, they were in the neighborhood, relatively speaking anyway. Two hours was right next door in the grand scheme of things. The trip could have been a little shorter, but Sam was driving so Dean's lead foot wasn't on the accelerator the entire time. Sitting in the middle, Skye was sandwiched between the two denim-clad behemoths. The front bench seat of a '67 Impala, it turned out, was the perfect size to fit two giant men and one adolescent-sized woman. Especially when one of those giant men and the adolescent-size woman invaded each other's personal bubbles at every opportunity.

Sparing a look at his passengers, Sam bit back a smile. They were cute, sweet, and more than a little vomit inducing. While Skye giving Sam a quick hug might be a big deal, she had no such qualms about being in very close contact with his brother. Constantly. Even now, she sat with her ankles resting on his shin, his leg in turn on her ankles, pinning her legs between. It seemed they were always finding little ways to touch each other and Sam would swear they didn't even realize they were doing it. Yup, saccharine vomit.

The trip went quickly, at least for the two trading insults and tasteless jokes in the passenger seat, the Impala pulling up to the small guardhouse before they knew it. Surrounded by a ten-foot chain-link fence, the small airfield in front of them wasn't much to look at, dominated by a large airplane hangar/office building and not much else. Waiting for them at the gate, Jerry Panowski was a friendly looking little balding man, a few inches shorter than Dean, wearing a short-sleeve pink and white checked shirt that really brought out the color of his scalp. Making sure they didn't have any trouble getting past the rent-a-cop, Jerry motioned for them to follow him, leading them to a parking spot right in front of the entrance. Climbing out, Dean held the passenger door for Skye, a hand going to the small of her back as all three of them made their way around to the front of the car and met up with Jerry.

"Jerry, this is my brother Sam." Dean made introductions, Sam offering the man his hand before Dean introduced Skye, "And this is our apprentice, Skye."

Oh, she was an apprentice now? Eh, sounded better than 'rookie'. Of course, he may have  _said_  'apprentice' but their body language screamed otherwise to anyone with eyes and even a modicum of social intelligence.

Offering his had to Sam and then Skye, Jerry couldn't help but give the girl a critical look. Cute, definitely, but young. Too young, maybe? He certainly hoped not. He didn't like to think that a guy like Dean would take advantage but hey, he didn't really know the guy that well. The man had saved his ass though so he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. There was the briefest hesitation on Skye's part as she shook Jerry's hand with a smile, quick enough that Jerry didn't notice. Giving her shoulder a quick squeeze in a wordless 'well done', Sam smiled down at her before the three of them followed Jerry inside.

"I didn't know guys in your line of work took on trainees." Glancing back at them, Jerry lead into the main building, a large labyrinthine airplane hangar stuffed with various and sundry, "Excuse me for saying but, you seem a little young for a job like this."

"The uh...apprenticeship...is a recent development born out a necessity. I'm older than I look." Smiling, she choked back a few choice phrases. She'd gotten a taste of this whole age thing on their last job and she wondered exactly how often this was going to come up, "I get that a lot, though. I take it as a compliment to what is apparently excellent genetics."

"I wanna thank you guys for making the trip so quick. I oughta be doing you a favor, not the other way around." Raising his estimation of her age from just south of legal to early twenties based on the way she carried herself and the way she spoke, Jerry was mildly relieved. He hadn't wanted to think badly of one of the men who had saved his life, especially one who'd seemed to be such a decent guy. Leading them through a maze of airplane parts and temporary walls lined with diagrams, he looked over his shoulder, "Dean, you and your Dad really helped me out before."

"Uh yeah, Dean was telling us about that." Exchanging a look with Skye, they shared an exasperated expression. They hadn't just 'heard' about it. Dean could be a little boastful on occasion and that had come to the fore when he'd been telling them about it, "A poltergeist?"

"Poltergeist?" One of the workers they passed overheard, chiming in with his opinion, "I love that movie."

"Same." Throwing up a 'rock on' gesture, Skye flashed the dude a grin as she passed before catching the look Dean was throwing her, "What? It's a good movie, dammit."

The corner of his mouth lifted as he tried not to smile, patting her head in an exaggeratedly patronizing way before she swatted his hand away, "I will harm you, Winchester."

The expression on his face showed exactly how much she scared him. Zero much. Zip. Zilch. He was exactly none scared of her. On a scale of one to ten, it was in the negatives. Maybe she should remind him she knew where he slept and had access to his brake lines. Not that she knew what brake lines looked like, but she could learn.

"Damn right it was a poltergeist." Lowering his voice so no more employees would overhear, he looked over his shoulder at Dean again, "Practically tore our house apart. I'll tell you something, if it weren't for you and your Dad, I probably wouldn't be alive."

The start of a familiar smug smile started to spread across Dean's too-perfect lips, Skye taking great joy in bursting his bubble with two words, "Bear trap."

Just a reminder of what happened, or rather almost happened, last time he'd started getting a little too full of himself. That smug look quickly turned into a scowl and a circumspect middle finger.

"Your Dad said you were off at college, Sam, is that right?"

"Uh yeah, I was. I'm-I'm just taking some time off." Did it count as time off if he was more than likely never going back? He didn't think so but he wasn't yet ready to admit he might be in denial about his prospects of returning.

"Well, he was real proud of you, I could tell." Jerry all unknowingly gave the boys a surprising bit of news, "Talked about you all the time."

"H-he did?" Skepticism and disbelief threaded Sam's voice, warring with hope. He might never admit it to himself, but more than just about anything he'd like for his father to be proud of him and John, well, John wasn't the hug-and-share type. That sort of thing was a weakness and good soldiers weren't allowed weaknesses. There was a damn good reason Skye couldn't stand the man she'd never met. The more she learned of him and the closer she grew to the boys the stronger her dislike of John fucking Winchester. Hell, if he saw the way Dean was falling for the petite brunette currently keeping pace with him, he'd likely accuse Dean of going soft and castigate the young man for daring to have feelings. Heaven forbid anyone have a heart.

"Yeah, you bet he did." Continuing, all unaware of the undercurrent of incredulity running through the Troubled Trio, "Oh hey, I tried to get ahold of him but couldn't, how's he doing?"

Hands in his pockets, Dean took a second to come up with a reasonable explanation for his father's absence. Couldn't exactly say 'hey, yeah, he's been missing for like two months now and he could be dead for all we know because he's an asshole that can't be bothered to let his kids know he's alive'...or that could just be Skye putting words in Dean's brain, but whatever, "He's um, he's wrapped up in a job right now."

Haha, yeah, okay. Snorting, Skye managed to turn it into a semi-convincing cough when Dean gave her a capital L kind of Look. Smiling innocently, she lifted a hand, clearly saying 'what, I didn't say a goddamn thing'. Yeah, but she was thinking it. Not noticing, Jerry was preoccupied with other things, presumably whatever had caused him to call them out here, "Well, we're missing the old man but we get Sam and the lovely young lady here, more than even trade, huh?"

"Nah." Hands in his pockets in mirror-image to Dean, Sam chuckled, "Not by a long shot."

"Speak for yourself, Sasquatch, I rock." Rolling her eyes sideways to give the lanky man a look chock-full of attitude, she flashed an insolent grin, "Seriously though, I'd rather have Sam around any day, and thank you for the compliment, Jerry."

"Come on, I got something I want you guys to hear." Finally leading them into an office at the back of the building, Jerry shot the door behind them after they filed in, gesturing for them to have a seat. Well, for at least two of them to have a seat, there were only two chairs in front of the desk that was littered with various bits of unidentifiable equipment, "Sorry, I don't have an extra chair. Didn't know there'd be an extra person."

"I think she needs a good two inches to technically qualify as a person." Oh, Sam showing up with some Snark.

Wrinkling her nose at him, Skye smiled with all the sweetness of a bowl of sugar, "And Sam would know all about havin' a good two inches."

Game. Set. Match. Carefully clearing off a corner of the cluttered desk, Skye perched herself on the corner nearest Dean, pretending to all and sundry that she hadn't just insulted Sam's manhood. Difficult to do with Dean trying not to giggle like a six-year-old. Yup, so professional.

"I listened to this and, well, it sounded like it was up your alley." Paying them no heed, Jerry sat in the office chair behind his desk and opened the disc player on his computer, popping a CD into it and queuing up the audio, "Normally I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia Flight 2485."

"Holy shit, really?" Going abruptly serious, Skye leaned closer to the computer.

Not recognizing the significance, Dean gave her a questioning look, "Flight 2485?"

"The flight that crashed about an hour after take-off a couple weeks back?" Unconsciously drumming a heel against the front of the desk, Skye pulled on the end of her braid, "Killed just about everybody, it was major news. We watched the broadcast after we'd spent the day out in that field shootin' coffee cans off fence posts, when we damn near got the cops called on us, remember?"

"Oh yeah" Now he remembered. Man, that old farmer had been pissed. Claimed they'd been scaring his cows. The fact that the cows in the next field over never so much as twitched an ear at the noise proved otherwise, but still…, "There were like six or seven survivors, right? I remember now."

Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, Sam inclined his head toward the computer, "Go ahead."

Static. Indistinct voices. The too-calm voice of the pilot, almost inaudible. " _Mayday. Mayday."_ Another burst of static, it was only possible to make out every few words. " _Figh...24..5...requesting immediate…"_ Alarms screamed and the whine of the engine rose in the background as the doomed airliner hurtled toward the unforgiving ground thirty-thousand feet below. " _We may be….ncing….some mechani….failure."_ The voices cut out, the static replaced with a crackling low moan, an unnatural growl making the hair on the back of Skye's neck stand up. Sharing a look as Jerry stopped the audio, the three Hunters took a second to be appropriately creeped out before turning back to the job at hand.

"It took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south. Now, they're saying mechanical failure." The tone of Jerry's voice let everyone in the room know exactly what he thought of that, "The cabin depressurized somehow, nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board and, like you said, only seven got out alive. The pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert, he's a good friend of mind. Chuck is, uh-well he's pretty broken up about it, like it was his fault."

"You don't think it was." Leaning back in his chair, Sam clasped his hands together and looked at the anxious man.

"Would he have called us if he did?" Trading a 'well duh' look with Dean, Skye managed to not roll her eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of 'professionalism', "Mechanical failure and human error aren't reasons to call in the Ghostbusters. And there's EVP on that recording."

"Yeah, there is. Good catch, Tink." Griping, Dean just knew she was going to put on the soundtrack when they got back in the car, "And God, I hate that movie."

"That's because you have no taste." Not true, he had excellent taste, but compliments don't make good insults.

Paying no mind to his partners, Sam spoke up, "Jerry, we're going to need passenger manifests, a list of survivors-"

"-a copy of that audio-" Skye added to the list.

"And any way we can get a look at that wreckage?" Dean finished it off, the three of them firmly on the same page.

"The other stuff is no problem, but the wreckage...guys, the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse." Sounding apologetic, he explained how he couldn't manage that last requirement, "No way I've got that kind of clearance."

None of the three in front of him looked at all worried by the news. The half-smile on Dean's face clearly saying he already had an idea how they'd manage it, "No problem."


	4. Chapter 4

They ran a few errands after leaving Jerry's office before Dean insisted they stop at the nearest copy and print center, a Copy Jack. Not exactly a nationwide name but it'd do the job. He'd refused to share the idea he'd come up with, likely in retaliation for Skye playing the entire Ghostbusters soundtrack as soon as they'd gotten back in the car after walking out of the hangar. Stubborn asses, the both of them.

While Dean went inside, Sam and Skye stayed in the car, Sam pulling out his laptop to try and clean up the audio they'd gotten from Jerry. Sliding over to sit sideways in the driver's seat, Skye made room for Sam to set his computer in the seat between them. Loading the CD containing the cockpit audio into the disc drive, he turned it so Skye could see the screen, "Here's something we haven't taught you yet."

"Lean in here and we'll see if we can pull up whatever EVP is on here." Clicking a few keys, he pulled up the GoldWave program, "Here, you start with this…"

Spending the next hour trying to show her how to do what should have taken twenty minutes ended up being a lesson in frustration, which wasn't quite the lesson he'd been going for.

"Skye...I don't get it." Leaning back against his seat, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before looking at the girl, "You can field strip a gun after watching someone do it  _once_. You remember  _everything_  anyone has  _ever_  said to you. You memorize entire passages of books that I'd swear you barely skimmed and spent two days learning how to get into law school because you watched 'Legally Blonde' and got 'curious'. I'm pretty sure you'd qualify for Mensa, so how...how do you not get this?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned back against the driver's side door and for just a moment, Sam was afraid she might shut down. She didn't tend to handle it well when someone got upset with her, for reasons that were obvious if you knew anything about the girl's abusive background. Her cunt of a mother had trained her to expect a kick or a fist at the slightest sign of displeasure. He was pleasantly surprised when instead of shrinking into herself, she smiled at him.

"That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me, Sam. Thank you." Raising a hand in a helpless gesture, she laughed softly, "I don't know, I'm sorry. I just-I don't do technology well. I have trouble with the fuckin' TV remote. Seriously, it took me six hours to figure out how to add Ben to my contact list in my stupid phone and  _two days_  to change my ringtone. Computers are evil and I hate them."

Not exaggerating.

"Okay, you know what, fair enough. We all have our weaknesses and you certainly have enough strengths to make up for them." Spinning the laptop back around to face him, he clicked a few keys before starting to chuckle, raising his eyes to look back up at her, "Did it really take you two days to change your ringtone?"

"Yes. Yes, it did. I hate my phone and have thought about smashing it to bits more times than I can count," she answered, an embarrassed smile hovering around the general vicinity of her lips. Taking the aforementioned phone out of the pocket of her jacket, a bright pink Motorola Razr flip phone with a tiny glittery Tinkerbell sticker on it...because Dean thought he was funny...She snapped a candid shot of Sam with the low-pixel camera, "... but I do like the camera."

She also happened to like the fact that Dean had gotten it for her and...the Tinkerbell sticker on the back was kind of cute.

"Alright, Strawberry Shortcake." Laughing again, he turned the screen back toward Skye when he'd finished, "Let's see what's on here, shall we."

There was a burst of static, followed by a hiss and then a high pitched and, quite frankly, creepy as fuck voice that could be heard screeching the words 'No survivors'.

"Yup, that's normal. Not creepy at all." Tugging on the end of her braid, Skye leaned a little further away from the computer, as if it might be possessed simply from playing the disc, "Excuse me while I get my rosary out of my bag and say a few Hail Mary's."

"You have a rosary?"

"Of course I have a rosary, I'm Catholic. Hell, you have a rosary." Hell, where she was probably going when all was said and done. Catholics, no fun without guilt feelings. Or so says Alanis Morissette.

"Well yeah." Of course he had a rosary. Even Dean had a rosary, "For holy water and related job duties. You're Catholic? You don't really seem, umm, religious. No offense."

"None taken, I'm non-practicing. Mostly." Flashing him a smile, she fidgeted with the phone she still held in her hands before remembering it was there and stuffing it back in her pocket, "Grandma's Catholic, I kinda didn't have a choice about it but it can be kinda comforting sometimes, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it. Dean's not exactly the 'God' type so it doesn't come up much but I stick my head in a church now and then. I figure if there's so much evil around, there's got to be good too, right?" He also prayed on the daily but didn't really feel the need to mention that at the moment, "How is your Grandmother?"

"Same. We see too much otherworldly shit for me to doubt there's something out there, but yeah, not gonna bring it up with your brother. Pretty sure he'd laugh at me and I...would prefer he didn't." Leaning her head sideways against the back of the seat, she sighed deeply, managing a tired smile, "She's not good, but as well as can be expected, I guess. Doctor says she's got a few months left...if she's lucky."

"I'm sorry, Skye." Reaching over his laptop, he gave her hand a quick squeeze, "I know it's got to be rough. If there's anything I can do, you let me know. I have two good shoulders and I've been told I'm excellent to cry on."

"Thanks, Sam." Smiling a little more cheerfully at the sweet man, she squeezed his hand before he took it back, not maintaining the contact long enough to make her too uncomfortable, "I'll keep that in mind. Not much of a crier though. I'm more of a 'stuff it in a box and pretend it's not happenin'' type. The Dean Winchester school of coping."

Hell, she was already more open and honest with Sam than she'd been with just about anyone else in her entire life.

"Speaking of Dean and your weird desire to make a good impression-" Giving her a cheeky grin, he was cut off before he could say much else.

"-and on that note, I'm going to go down the street to get a cup of coffee." Opening the driver's side door, she stepped out and leaned back in long enough to ask, "Want anything?"

"For you to go out for drinks with my brother." Not what she meant, smartass. Laughing, he rolled his window down after she slammed the door, sticking his head out as she walked around the front of the car to the sidewalk, "Dinner? Movie? Breakfast?...I'll sleep in the car!"

Sammy, what a wingman. Well, he tried anyway. Flipping him off as she walked away, heading toward the coffee shop halfway down the block, she wondered why he was so determined to get her and Dean together. The man was a bear-sized nuisance. Hands in her pockets, she smiled, humming 'Bad Romance' as she moved to the beat only she could hear.

* * *

Finally emerging from the Copy Jack, Dean found Sam leaning up against the passenger side door, having gotten out to stretch his absurdly long legs.

"Dude, you took forever." Straightening, Sam took his hands out of his pockets, curious to see what his brother had been up to in the two years he'd been in the shop.

"You can't rush perfection." Holding out a hand, he fanned out three official looking government IDs, quite satisfied with his work, "Where's Tink?"

"She went to college, graduated sum cum laude. Last I heard, she was married with three kids...She went to get a cup of coffee because you took forever and she got tired of waiting," And because Sam maybe opened his big mouth about Dean, but that didn't really need to be said. Taking the ID with his picture on it, Sam gave it a long look, "Homeland Security? That's pretty illegal, even for us."

"Yeah well, it's something new. People haven't seen it a thousand times." Walking around the car to the driver's door, he couldn't resist adding, "Besides, it's no fun if there's no risk."

Dean's idea of fun was maybe a little skewed. Climbing into the driver's seat, he closed the door behind him, turning to look at his brother as he took his wallet out of his pocket.

"Alright, so what do you got?" Tucking his shiny new highly illegal ID away, he stuck his wallet back in his pocket, taking a second to look at Skye's while he had it out. It wasn't bad if he did say so himself, though the picture didn't do her justice. Sure, she was pretty enough in pictures, okay maybe more than pretty in his opinion, but she had a quality in person that a camera just couldn't catch. Smiling ruefully, he tucked her ID in the inside pocket of his jacket, thinking he was starting to sound like a shitty chick flick...even if it was just in his own head. Pulling said head out of his ass, he gave his attention to Sam and Sam's laptop.

"Well." Flipping his laptop open, he brought the program back up and pulled up the recording, "There's definitely EVP on the cockpit audio. Skye's got a good ear."

"Yeah?" Looking over at his brother, Dean reflexively glanced in the backseat, "Should we wait for Tink?"

"Nah, she's already heard it."

Propping the computer on his knee, he turned the screen to face Dean. Not quite sure why as it was the audio they were after, but it seemed like the thing to do. Static. Hiss. Freaky-ass 'No survivors'. It wasn't less creepy the second time. The back passenger door opened, Skye sliding in, carefully balancing three cups of coffee and a bag of who knew what kinds of baked goods. Handing each of the boys a cup of coffee before dropping the bag into the spot between them, perching herself on the edge of the backseat, her own coffee in hand.

"They had those sesame muffins you like, Sam, so I got you a couple." Wrapping her hands around her coffee cup, she leaned forward, chin on the top of the seat as she peered into the front, "And I might have gotten a couple of apple pie muffins that I thought Dean might like to try."

"This...this is why you're in the Cool Kids Club, Tink." Having perked up at the words 'apple pie', Dean reached for the bag, coffee in his left hand as he dug through the contents with his right. Yeah. That was why. Didn't have anything at all to do with the fact that he desperately wanted to do very bad things with her... _I don't know what you've done to me but I know this much is true, I wanna do bad things with you..._  Okay, no more TruBlood for him. Peeling the paper off, he took a bite and if the look on his face was anything to go by, it must have been pretty good. The boy did like his food. Mouth full, he gestured to Sam to play the recording again.

Static. Hiss. Freaky-ass voice. Nope, not less creepy the third time either.

"Sounds like that one electric monster from Scooby-Doo." Dean spoke, voice muffled by half a mouthful of muffin, "No survivors?"

"It really does, now that you mention it, only like a thousand times creepier." Tapping Dean on the shoulder, she gave him a disgusted look, "Now chew and swallow before you choke and die."

"Sorry, Mom." Swallowing, he licked his lips, "What's that supposed to mean, no survivors? There were seven survivors."

"Got me." Shrugging, Sam admitted he didn't have the faintest.

In retrospect, perhaps they could have been able to figure it out just a little sooner.

"Same...and if I was your Mom, Winchester, I'd have busted your ass by now."

"You hear that, Sam, she's threatening to spank me." Smirking, he turned in his seat and laid his arm across the back, absently swirling the coffee in his left hand, "Promises, promises, Tinkerbell. Maybe you should put your money where your mouth is."

"Maybe I should glue yours shut." She threatened with a smile before finishing off her coffee, "Then maybe Sam and I would get some peace and quiet."

"Oh you know you want me." Reaching into the backseat, he poked her nose, pulling his hand away as she snapped at his finger, "Sam, back me up here."

"Don't drag me into this." Shutting his laptop, Sam shoved it into his bag, trying not to smile. Turning to sit sideways in his own seat, he lifted a hand and waved it around at the two of them, "This thing going on between you two is nothing I want to get involved in. Ever. It sickens me."

Okay, then why did he keep sticking his nose in? Riddle me that.

"As if, Winchester." Resting her chin on Dean's arm, she wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at him, "Weren't we supposed to be figurin' out a job and savin' lives or some mildly important shit like that?"

"Alright." Throwing the wadded up muffin wrapper at her, he cleared his throat, pulling at the collar of his shirt as the car grew warmer and the scent of her honeysuckle soap or whatever grew stronger, "Right. So what do you guys think? Haunted flight?"

"Phantom travelers?" Just last week she'd read a book Sam assigned her dealing with phantom travelers. Yes, she had assigned reading. Like she was back in High School. But then, she'd never had classes quite like these. Swatting the little paper ball away, she leaned her head sideways on Dean's arm and glared at him with mock-ferocity, "Watch it, boy. I know where you live."

"There's a long history of spirits and death omens on plans and ships. Remember flight 401." Pulling out a sesame muffin Skye had gotten for him, Sam removed the wrapper and folded it neatly before dropping it back in the bag, "And of course you know where he lives. You live three inches away from him."

"I do not." Taking a second to think about it, she still couldn't recall anything about a flight 401, "Flight 401?"

"You don't?" Looking at her, Sam pointedly looked at Dean's arm under her, "Really?"

"Stuff it, Stretch."

"The airline salvaged parts from the wreck of flight 401 and put them in other planes." Giving his brother a long 'shut the fuck up' look, Dean took the time to explain, "The spirits of the pilot and co-pilot started haunting those flights."

"Really?" Giving a sniff of disbelief, she smiled slightly at the smell of leather tickling her nose. It was quite a nice smell of which she was becoming particularly fond. Okay, so maybe she did live three inches away from the man a lot of the time. So what? Didn't mean anything except it was a small car. Woo denial! "You'd think dead people would have better things to do with their time."

"You'd think." Reluctantly Dean moved his arm, forcing Skye to relinquish her headrest. Turning back around in his seat, he dug his keys out of his pocket and finished off his coffee, "So. Survivors. Which one you guys want to talk to first?"

"Third one down." Handing Dean the passenger manifest, Sam tapped the page next to the name, "Max Jaffey."

"Why him?" Taking a quick look at the list, he handed it back and started the car, pulling out into traffic.

"Well for one, he's from around here." Leaning back in his seat, Sam propped his arm on the window, "If anyone saw something weird, he did."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because I talked to his Mom." Stretching, Skye leaned back in her own seat and smiled, "She told me where we can find him."


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn't long before they were pulling up to the tall iron gates of one 'Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital - Private Care Facility'.Pretty nice place, really. The buildings were inviting, cozy even, looking more like a relaxing retreat or bed and breakfast than a nuthouse. One hand playing with the end of her braid, Skye leaned against the passenger side door and took a long look at the buildings, only looking up when the boys opened their doors and started to get out.

"Hey, you alright?" Hesitating, Dean turned to look over his shoulder at her, the uneasiness in her unguarded expression catching his attention. Not to mention the hair.

"Peachy keen, Winchester. We're gettin' left behind." All trace of anxiety vanished instantly when Skye turned to look at him, smiling and nodding toward the front of the car where Sam was waiting on the sidewalk. Hopping out of the car, Skye stuffed her hands in her pockets and walked around to the front of the car, turning to raise a brow at Dean who was taking his sweet ass time, "You comin', Leo?"

Closing his door, Dean looked up and gave her a blank stare as he walked around to join them before they all started for the entrance, "Leo?"

"...or maybe Mikey." Glancing up at Dean, she nudged his arm with an elbow and grinning, smug that she had to explain the reference, "They're turtles. Kinda famous, you might a heard of 'em."

"That make you April?" Moving up to walk on the other side of her, Sam grinned, "Wait, which Turtle did she have a crush on?"

"Donatello." Answering in unison, Skye and Dean looked at each other and smothered smiles, neither wanting to be the one to break first.

Hard to do when Sam was laughing his ass off next to them,"...and you call me a nerd."

"I'd rather be Karai." Turning around to face the boys as she spoke, she walked backward without any regard for what might be behind her, one corner of her mouth lifted in a sardonic smile, "She's badass. Could snap April in half. How's that for nerd?"

"...didn't she have a thing for Leo?"

"Nope." Spinning on the ball of a foot, she turned halfway around to walk the right way, not looking over at Dean as she answered, "Can't say I remember that."

* * *

After getting directions at the front desk, they made their way outside, spotting Jaffey making his slow way toward a table on the far side of the courtyard. The yard was as comfortable as the buildings suggested it would be, nice and open with bordering hedges and tall trees for shade. Round tables dotted the area, each sitting six or eight people. Perfect place for a stroll, a game of checkers or a relaxing argument with the muppets that lived in your head. Falling back behind the boys, Skye walked without looking around at her surroundings, tension in the set of her shoulders that didn't show in her smile as she looked straight ahead.

Catching his brother's eye, Dean rolled his eyes in Skye's direction before meeting Sam's gaze again, raising an eyebrow. A short nod confirmed he'd noticed too, both boys now wondering what was going on in that little head of hers to have her on guard. Hastening her steps, Skye shouldered past the boys, shiny new potential prison time already in hand as she approached Jaffey with a smile, "Max Jaffey?"

"Yes?" Looking up at the approaching trio, Max wavered on his crutches before regaining his balance. The man had a pronounced limp and was just looking a little rough all around. No big surprise there, he'd just survived a horrific plane crash that had killed dozens of people. Considering that, he was in pretty good shape. Kind of cute too. Tall, dark, mid-twenties and mentally unstable. Just Skye's type. ...if she'd had one, which she didn't. Yeah. Right.

"I'm Agent Harry with Homeland Security, these are my partners Agents Stein and Burke." She introduced Dean and Sam, taking over only out of a growing need to get this interview done with and get the hell out of here, "We'd like to ask you a few questions if that's alright."

Trading another look, this one a startled glance that was quickly covered, the boys let her take the lead. Hey, they had to see how she'd do with this kind of thing eventually anyway.

"You're with Homeland Security?" Giving the bite-size girl a once-over, Max didn't look like he was buying that one, "In that outfit?"

Not to mention the fact that she looked, like, twelve. Okay maybe not that young, but certainly not old enough to be any kind of Agent for anything.

"My boss is in Washington." Breaking the semi-professional expression she'd managed up to now, Skye flashed Max an engaging grin, "I can wear whatever I want, what's he gonna do?"

"Alright, Agent Harry." A half-smile on his tired lips, Max relaxed slightly as the breeze shifted, blowing the faint scent of honeysuckle Dean's way, "I already spoke with Homeland Security but I guess I can spare a few minutes."

"Thank you, Mr. Jaffey." Inclining her head toward the nearest table, "Why don't we go sit down, get you off your feet."

A painfully slow hobble later, the four of them were sitting at a wooden table half under the dead leaves of an old oak tree, Skye sitting beside him with Dean next to her and Sam on the other side of Max. It was a great spot for a cup of tea or a rousing round of 'my mental illness is worse than yours'. An always fun game a certain type of patient always loved to play, like old folks comparing bunions and colonoscopies.

"Mr. Jaffey. " Clasping his hands together on the tabletop, Sam took over, "Did you notice anything unusual?"

"Like what?" Rubbing his head, Jaffey looked tired. Mentally and physically. Poor guy did not want to be going through questioning again but then, he probably hadn't been asked questions quite like these before.

"Strange light, weird noises maybe...voices," Mirroring his brother's posture, Dean watched the young man with a stern expression that bordered on intimidation. He was good at that. Well, the intimidation part anyway.

"No." Shaking his head, Max refused to meet any of their eyes, instead staring at his hands clasped together tightly in front of him, "Nothing."

Max Jaffey was a terrible liar.

"Mmm hmm...Mr. Joffey-" Starting in on his own line of questioning, coming off harsher than there was any need for. No big surprise there.

"Jaffey." Leaning back in her chair, Skye smiled pleasantly at Dean, knowing full well he'd mispronounced it on purpose, "I believe it's Jaffey."

Offering Skye a cute but shaky smile, Max managed a 'thanks' without saying a word. Undeterred, Dean continued, "You checked yourself in here, right?"

Nodding with reluctant slowness, Jaffey confirmed that he had indeed checked himself in, resentment growing in his eyes as he glanced over at Dean.

"Can I ask why?" Because it'd stop him if Jaffey said 'no'. The boy...the  _man_ , was nothing if not persistent when he was after something.

"I was a little stressed." A tight smile stretched itself across Jaffey's lips, "I survived a plane crash. I think I'm entitled."

"Uh huh...and that's why you checked yourself in here?" Cue blatant disbelief from the Winchesters. Well, and a Bleu, but she at least managed not to show it, "That's what you're afraid of?"

"I-I don't wanna talk to you about this anymore." Looking around, Jaffey eyed the crutches leaning against the table between him and Sam, wondering how long it would take him to hobble off and if they'd try to come after him.

"See." Leaning forward, forearms on the table, Dean lowered his voice. Oh good, from intimidation to menacing. Because that's always the way to go, "I think maybe you did see something up there. We need to know what."

"No. ...no, I was delusional, seeing things." Fear made his voice tremble, his skin paling as he remembered whatever it was he hadn't seen. Pushing himself away from the table, he started to grapple with the crutches, having a hard time getting to his feet. Dude may or may not have been medicated. Leaning heavily toward 'may', "I don't-I'm not gonna talk about this anymore."

"He was seeing things." Looking at Sam, Dean repeated Max's words, scorn dripping from his tight smile. Mirroring Dean's expression almost exactly, it was obvious Sam didn't think any more of Max's claim than Dean had. Nope, couldn't tell those two were related.

Clearing her throat, Skye pushed herself away from the table, an apologetic smile on her lips as she looked down at the distressed man, "Mr. Jaffey, would you excuse us for just a moment. I need to talk to my partners. Privately."

Giving each of the boys a look that said quite clearly that if they didn't take her 'invitation' they'd spend the next week watching the Hallmark channel, she walked to a spot just out of easy earshot of the table and turned to wait for them. Yeah, they got the message.

"What, Skye?" Dean's jaw did that tightening thing that somehow managed to be a little scary and kind of hot all at once, "He's about two seconds from spilling."

Looking like he disagreed, Sam was smart enough not to say anything, not about to get in the middle of this. No one had ever called him stupid. Well, except Dean.

"No, he's not. He's two seconds from having a security guard escort our fraudulent asses out the door." Hands on her hips, she leaned her head back to glare up at the much taller man, a pomeranian going toe-to-toe with a mastiff, "Trust me, he's high as a kite and terrified. If he shuts down, we won't get a damn thing."

Ever see a mastiff back down from a pomeranian? You have now. Didn't hurt any that the mastiff was really hoping to take the pom out for drinks sometime in the real near future. And also that she may have had a point, but mostly the former.

"Fine." Lips thinning in irritation, it was obvious Dean wasn't used to deferring to someone else, unless maybe that someone was his father. In pretty much all situations that didn't involve John, Dean was the default leader and he damn well knew it, "What do you suggest?"

Man needed to learn to delegate responsibility. The corners of her eyes crinkled as smiled, instantly switching from ready-to-fight to pleased he was willing to listen, "Back off and let me try."

"You going to do that whole weird 'Mom' thing?" Unsure if he wanted her to try that, Sam frowned. On the one hand, he wanted to see it in action again. On the other hand, it was weird. On the third hand, Sam still had yet to decide if Skye was a threat or not. On the fourth hand...Shaking his head, Sam cleared it of images of a four-handed Skye as his imagination went on a brief tangent. Man, he needed a good night's sleep.

"You know, still don't really know what you guys mean when you say that but no." Not lying, she really didn't. Talk about a weird area for a somewhat self-aware person to be totally blind of. Sticking her hands in her pockets, she bounced on the balls of her feet before rocking back on her heels, getting more jittery the longer they were here, "I was thinkin' the whole weird 'girl with boobs' thing."

Taking the opportunity to give Skye a long look, Dean's gaze swept over her from tip-to-tail, "Yeah. Okay, that'll work."

What a vote of confidence. Gee, almost like maybe he thought she was cute. Men. Pivoting on a booted heel, she walked back to the table and grabbed her chair, moving it closer to Max before she sat back down.

"I'm sorry about that, Max. My partners are, well, we haven't eaten yet and they get a little growly without their kibble." Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, she took a shot at turning on the charm, not something she had any practice with but she did watch a lot of movies. Lowering her voice, she half-smiled, "I get it, I do. You don't wanna say what you saw because you're not even sure yourself. You're afraid we'll think you're insane. Or worse yet, what if we actually believe you? Because, well, that would mean that what you saw might be real and that...that is truly terrifying."

Initially Max had leaned away from the girl but with each word he leaned closer, expression shifting from one of dread to one of mild fear mixed with a good dose of interest.

"I am sorry to ask, truly I am. I wouldn't press it if I didn't have to, but Max, we need to know what you saw." Reaching out a hand, she grasped the man's arm, "You could save a lot of lives."

If Sam hadn't been looking for anything out of the ordinary, he may not have spotted it, subtle as it was. As soon as Skye touched Max, the man's skin flushed and he smiled, breath quickening and eyes dilating. Certainly not an unusual look, by any means, but it had come on awful quick. Going from moderately interested to extremely so in the space of less than a minute. Even then, if the effect had been limited to Max, Sam might not have thought anything of it. Taking a long look around the area, he saw what no one else noticed. Every male between the ages of puberty to near-death was reacting the same way. Flushed, too warm. To a man they were all removing jackets or loosening collars and the general temperature, if anything, was cooler than when they'd arrived.

"It gettin' hot out here?" Glancing up at the sky, Dean slipped a finger under his collar and considered shrugging out of one of the thousand layers he was wearing, "Do you smell that? Must be a honeysuckle bush on the property."

No way he could be smelling the girl's perfume or whatever from over there.

"No...I don't." Raising a brow, Sam glanced at his brother before doing a double-take. Yup, whatever was going on was affecting him too.

From this close, he could see the pulse at Dean's throat beating a too rapidly for a healthy male that was standing still, everything else identical to every other guy there. Except Sam, apparently.

"It was-it was a man, a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me and then…" Hesitating, reluctant to continue, Max shifted the topic, "Do you smell cookies?"

Hmm. Possibly significant, possibly not. Sam couldn't smell honeysuckle or cookies. Another quick look around and he took note that most every guy out there was turning their head, breathing deeply as if they smelled something pleasant. Well, that was, hmm...interesting.

"No, can't say I do." Moving her hand down Max's arm, she clasped one of his hands in hers, steeling herself not to shudder or react in any negative way. It wasn't like she wanted to gnaw her own hand off to get away or something equally rude like that. Nope. Not at all. Squeezing his fingers, she brought his attention back to the information she needed, "What about the man sitting in front of you, Max," Squeezing his fingers, she brought his attention back to the information she needed, "What was it about him that scared you?"

"He-he had these eyes. These black eyes, and he-he went to the emergency door and opened it. He just  _opened_  it. I've looked it up, there's something like two tons of pressure on those doors, there's no way anyone could do that." Eyes widening with remembered terror, Max crushed her fingers convulsively in his hand, "I mean, that's not possible, right?"

"Thank you, you've told me exactly what I need to know." Firmly but gently extracting her fingers from his stranglehold, she resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her jeans, "As for whether it's possible? …'There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy'. I can't tell you what you saw wasn't real, but I can tell you that you're safe now. Nothing like that is ever gonna happen again, okay? You're safe, Max."

"Good." Smiling at her, he seemed to take her at her word, "...good."

"Come on, Harry." Stepping back up to the table, Sam unknowingly turned into her knight-in-shining-denim, saving her. Tapping his watch, he nodded a goodbye at Jaffey before starting toward the exit, "Hurry up, we've got an appointment to keep."

"So we do." Glancing at her own watch, she convincingly faked surprise at the time. Getting to her feet, she offered her hand one last time to Max, "Thank you again for your time, Mr. Jaffey."

"No, you can keep calling me Max." Refusing to relinquish her hand, Max pulled her a half-step closer and struggled to his feet, "Hey, listen, I know this might be a little forward but uh-think maybe I could take you out for a drink sometime."

"No, thank you, Mr. Jaffey," Trying to extricate herself without seeming rude was difficult when she was about to seriously lose her cool. Unsuccessfully trying to pull away, for the briefest moment she dropped all pretense of being okay and instinctively threw Dean a desperate look. Meeting her eyes, Dean read all the anxiety and growing fear as clearly as if she'd spoken aloud. Then, quick as that, she was smiling at Max again, "No, I'm sorry, I'm only in town for the investigation."

"Come on, just one drink." Gripping her hand a little harder, Max doubled down, "I can call you as soon as I get out of here."

Moving up to stand next to her, Dean settled a hand on her shoulder and looked pointedly at Max's hand around Skye's before locking eyes with the young man. The rather sexist 'this is my property' body language screaming as loud as Howler monkeys in mating season. But all things considered, we're going to ignore that. Forever.

"Mr. Joffey." A pleasant smile on his lips that didn't meet his eyes, Dean towered over the man without even trying, his voice taking on an edge Skye hadn't heard before, "If you don't remove your hand, you will lose it."

If that hadn't been enough to make Max take a step back while turning an interesting shade of 'oh shit', and it was, then Sam returning to stand a few feet away with a cold smile on his face would have clinched it. Ushering Skye away, Dean put a hand on her back, gently steering her toward the exit.

"You okay?" Concerned, Sam looked over at her, "I got like three feet away, turn around and Dean's looking like he's going to rip Max's throat out with his teeth. What'd I miss?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Not a sign of the agitation that Dean had seen anywhere in evidence, "Jaffey got a little clingy. Asked me out for drinks and didn't really wanna take 'no' for an answer."

"Ah, okay." Smiling, Sam gave his brother a sideways glance, "...so Dean to the rescue."

"I'm not a fuckin' Disney princess, Long John. I didn't need rescuing." Turning around to walk facing them, she gave Sam a withering look, meeting Dean's eyes briefly before turning back around, "...but thanks, Batman. I appreciate the thought."

Suppressing a smile, Dean damn well knew better. And hey, Batman was a step up from the names she usually called him, "Yeah, any time, Tinkerbell."

Her steps slowing, she fell behind before reaching the exit, a pensive expression in her eyes.

"Somethin' on your mind, Tink?" Glancing back over his shoulder, he raised a brow at the look on her face, he and Sam both slowing down to match her stride.

"Hmm? Oh, was just thinkin'. You know, if the looney bin I was shoved into was as nice as this one, I might a stayed longer." Closing her eyes for just a second, she stiffened as memories of dark empty rooms and antipsychotics with nasty side effects tried to push their way in before ruthlessly shoving them back in the dark gaping hole where they belonged. With a half-shrug, she stuffed her hands into her pockets and quickened her step, brushing it off like it was no big thing, "The food was good though, I'll give 'em that much."

The boys exchanged a look as Skye quickly outpaced them, beating them both to the car. Well, that explained a lot.

Leaning against the driver's side, she waited for the boys to catch up before opening the door.

"Hey Skye?" Pausing on the passenger side, Sam looked over the top of the car at her, brow furrowed, "Is it okay if I ask why you were admitted?"

"Course you can ask, doesn't mean I'll say." Flashing Sam a smile, she answered, downplaying it, "I was-I was sectioned twice. They uh... weren't too fond of me tryin' to remove myself from the gene pool. Like, zero outta ten, I do not recommend bein' committed. You can only play so many games of checkers before you legit start losin' your fuckin' mind."

Sliding into the car, she waited as the boys processed that before they both climbed in the car after her. Turning on the radio and flipping stations as soon as Dean started the car, she raised the volume enough to ward off anything they might have to say about her little confession.

"... _and so today, my world it smiles. Your hand in mine, we walk the miles…"_

Pulling out into traffic, Dean didn't so much as glance at the girl sitting next to him, giving the impression he was upset with her admission. An impression that was quickly proven false when he found her hand tucked into the space between them and laid his hand on hers, wrapping his fingers around her palm and brushing his thumb against the back of her hand. For just a second, he thought she might pull away.

"... _thanks to you, it will be done, for you, to me, are the only one…"_

Aside from the slightest twitch, she showed no outward sign of surprise. After a heartbeat's hesitation, she turned her hand and twined her fingers with his, the barest hint of a smile hovering around the corners of her lips as she watched the scenery slip past.


	6. Chapter 6

"Alright, so, what'd you find out from Max?" Smiling at the waitress as she refilled his coffee, Sam turned his attention to Skye, trying to keep his thoughts off his face. What had he seen back at there? He'd gone over it and over it in his mind but couldn't figure it out. That she had done something, he had no doubt, but he couldn't think of what. It wasn't normal, that was for damn sure. Was Skye really who and what she claimed to be? Was she really a scared, broken kid developing falling for for his brother...or was she something else? It wouldn't be completely out of the question to consider that she might be someone else. Some _thing_  else. After all, what did they really know about her? Not much. Abusive home, lived in Oklahoma and Louisiana, was committed twice. Learned new skills almost creepily fast. An impressive sense of situational awareness. Was it possible she was something else masquerading as a person? Certainly wouldn't be unheard of, though what could she possibly have to gain?

"Well, I learned he needs to learn the word 'boundaries'." Taking a drink of her iced tea, she leaned back in the booth, looking at the men sitting on the other side, "He also for sure saw somethin'. Said the guy in the seat in front of him had black eyes and that he got out of his seat and opened the emergency door. A not impossible but highly improbable thing for someone to be able to do mid-flight."

Finishing off his third cup of coffee, Dean set the empty mug at the edge of the table for a refill and leaned forward, elbows on the table, "So who was sitting in front of him?"

Reaching for his bag tucked by his legs under the table, Sam started to get it out to find the passenger manifest when Skye supplied the answer from memory, "George Phelps, 20C. 718 north Rogers Ave."

"How do you remember that?" Dean gave her a funny look, flicking a balled up piece of napkin at her, "Exactly how much do you have stored in that head of yours?"

"How do you not remember that? You just looked at it two hours ago." Shrugging, she flicked an empty salt packet at him in retaliation, "Umm. A lot. Did you know tardigrades are thought to be able to survive a global mass extinction and can go more than thirty years without food and water?"

"I've been assaulted." Looking faux-offended, he reached over to Skye's plate and stole a french fry as reparations for the vicious attack, a puzzled look on his face, "What the hell is a tardigrade?"

"Guess I'll fry for it." Haha. Ha. Lame, "A tardigrade is a micro-animal, also a called a water bear. They're kinda adorable and real fuckin' resilient. My favorite animal."

Turning part way in his seat, Sam wondered why the hell his brother couldn't share the other seat with Skye. They could be touching for hours in the car but sharing a diner booth was too intimate? Like he hadn't seen them holding hands all the way here? Seriously? Though at this point he wasn't sure he wanted his brother involved with her at all, even if they were pretty damn good together. Too good?

"That's a weird thing to have as your favorite animal." Signaling to the waitress that they were ready for the check, Dean gave up on getting another refill, "Let me guess, you wanted to be like a marine biologist or something as a kid."

"Nope." Grabbing her jacket off the seat beside her, she slid out of the booth and slipped it on as she waited for the slower men, "I wanted to be a criminal psychologist."

"...of course you did." Handing the waitress enough to cover the check plus a tip, Dean headed toward the entrance, holding the door open for her and a too-quiet Sam, "Because you're a freak."

"Let me guess." Ducking under his arm, she paused long enough to smirk up at him, "You wanted to be an astronaut or a dinosaur."

"Cowboy." Unable to stop himself from teasing his brother, Sam managed a convincing smile, "Dean wanted to be a cowboy."

"Don't be tellin' her that shit." Stepping away from the door as Sam was walking through, Dean stepped away and let it shut on his brother, "She doesn't need the ammunition."

"Oh yes I do."

* * *

Pulling up to the curb outside the Phelps residence, Dean turned off the car and pocketed his keys before opening the door and holding it for Skye after he got out, "Do you ever admit when you're wrong?"

"I might if I were ever wrong."

Climbing out of the passenger seat, Sam contemplated bashing his head in with the car door. Between his own thoughts and the other two engaging in some kind of weird bitch-flirting verbal foreplay the entire time, he was starting to get a massive headache. Lack of sleep may have played a small factor. Seriously though, the idiot children had spent the entire ride bickering about everything from weapons to cartoons. Currently, they were onto which was better, Beetlejuice or Gargoyles. Sam hadn't even known they'd made an animated Beetlejuice but he sure as hell did now.

"Wait, I got it…" Hands in her pockets, she hopped the curb, the three of them stopping on the sidewalk to take a look at the house set back from the street, "Courage the Cowardly dog trumps all."

"You know what, I'm gonna give you that one. For now. 'Cause that was a damn good show." Looking up at the well-manicured lawn and the fresh gray-green paint job, Dean turned the conversation toward the job, "Man, I don't care how strong you are, even yoked up on PCP or somethin', no way you can open an emergency door during flight."

"Not if you're human." Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Sam thought about that for a minute, forcing himself not to look down at the young woman standing between him and his brother, "Maybe this guy George was something else, some kind of creature in human form."

"I gotta say, that is one really nice evil lair." Tilting her head, Skye took in the pristine flower beds lining the sidewalks and the trees lining either side of the yard, "I always pictured less Martha Stewart, more dank sewer."

"That is usually how it goes, yeah." Waving his hand toward the house, Dean ushered the two of them in front of him, cocking his head as Skye started to sing something under her breath, "What the hell are you singing?"

"... _I wanna kiss you but if I do then I might miss you, babe. It's complicated and stupid got my ass squeezed by sexy cupid…"_ Not even realizing she'd been singing at all until she was called out on it, she felt her skin grow warm when she registered the song running through her head. Not that there was any particular reason for it to be there, no reason at all for her to be embarrassed by it. Uh huh.

"...nothin'." Ducking her head, she took the steps up to the small front porch two at a time, "Just a random song."

"Are...are you blushing?" Following her up the steps, Dean leaned down to get a closer look at her face before chuckling and straightening, "You're blushing."

"I am doin' no such thing." Resolutely refusing to look at either of them, she motioned for them to get on with it, "Focus, people."

"I'd be blushing too if I were caught singing that." Raising a hand to knock, Sam couldn't help letting on that he knew exactly what she'd been singing, "I wonder why you've got it on the brain, Shortstack."

"Shut the fuck up, big mouth." Kicking him in the back of the leg, her 'I will shank you' expression turning into a smile as a woman answered the door.

"Sam, you had better t-" Cutting himself off as the door opened, Dean made a mental note to badger his brother about it later. Removing his ID from his jacket pocket, he smiled, "Sorry to bother you, ma'am, we're with the Department of Homeland Security. We're looking into the 2485 tragedy and we were hoping to ask you some questions about your husband."

Holding up their own IDs, Sam and Skye waited for the woman to examine all three of them before putting them away as Mrs. Phelps opened the door wider, inviting them inside. Closing the door behind them, Skye coming in last, the woman gave her a closer look, "Aren't you a little young to be Homeland Security?"

"I get that a lot, ma'am. Just good genes." Following her and the boys into the sitting room, Skye smiled while throwing a purely internal temper tantrum, "But thank you for the compliment."

Swearing to herself to keep a tally every time someone said that to her, she envisioned ripping it up when she was done, setting it on fire and dancing on the ashes. Taking the chairs, the boys left Skye to either stand or take a seat next to their unenthusiastic hostess. Great. Dicks. Sitting next to the grieving woman, she let the guys take over this one, still rattled from their last interview, though she didn't show it. Sitting forward with his hands dangling between his knees, Sam asked the most obvious question, "Ma'am, what did Mr. Phelps do for a living?"

"He was a dentist, a good one too." Smiling, the middle-aged brunette was obviously proud of her late husband's accomplishments, "Even won a Golden Apple award last year for excellent customer satisfaction."

Who knew they had awards in dentistry? Picking up a framed picture of the very ordinary looking couple, Sam looked at Mrs. Phelps, "This is your late husband?"

"Yes." Nodding, eyes bright with unshed tears, the woman's voice grew thick, "That was my George."

"And he was a ...dentist." That made sense. So many rogue dentists running around these days. Dean simply couldn't picture the man in the photograph doing any such thing.

"Mmhmm. He was headed to a conference in Denver." Sniffing, Mrs. Phelps gave Skye a smile of thanks when the young woman leaned forward and grabbed the box of tissues off the table for her, "Do you know, he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that..."

Isn't it ironic, dontcha think? Kinda like rain on your wedding day…

"How long were you married?" Trying to keep his expression neutral, Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, ignoring a questioning look from Skye when she noticed.

"Thirteen years."

"In all that time, did you ever notice anything strange about him?" Sitting on the edge of his chair, Dean tried to get to the point of the visit, "Anything out of the ordinary?"

Thinking about it for a long moment, a bewildered look on her face, Mrs. Phelps shook her head, "He had acid reflux, if that's what you mean."

* * *

"Well." Skipping the stairs, Skye hopped off the porch and looked back at the boys trailing behind her, "That was informative."

"Yeah." Agreeing with the sarcasm in her tone and not the words themselves, Sam rubbed his temple, "It just doesn't make sense."

Too many things didn't make sense.

"Yup." Running a hand through his thick hair, Dean sighed before hooking his thumbs into his jacket pockets, "A middle-aged man with an ulcer is not exactly evil personified."

"Ooo, 'personified'. That's a long word, Winchester." Teasing, Skye stopped on the sidewalk, giving the others a chance to catch up, "That word of the day toilet paper is really comin' in handy."

Swatting at her, he missed when she danced out of the way, quicker than she had any damn right to be, "Brat."

"Dick."

Rolling his eyes, Sam prayed for patience. Audibly. Flipping him off, Dean said what they were all thinking, "We're gonna need to get into that NTSB warehouse and check out the wreckage."

"Okay." Taking a deep breath, Sam agreed, pushing all other wayward thoughts to the back of his mind, "If we're going to go that route, we're going to need to look the part."

Grinning gleefully, Skye bounced up onto her toes, "Oh, this should be fun."

Walking around to the driver's door, Dean held it open for her, an exaggerated sigh on his smiling lips, "I think we're a bad influence on you, kid."

"Who's this 'we', Dean? This is all you," Opening the back door, Sam stuck his head in the backseat for a second before moving to his place up front, glancing over at his brother as he got in the car, "You're corrupting the child."

"...not yet." Flashing the kind of wicked grin that made Skye's stomach flip, he started the car and eased into traffic, "But give me time."

"Mmhmm, in the meantime..." Popping open the CD player, Sam put the disc he'd smuggled out of the backseat into it and hit play on the 10th track. Should he be encouraging this? Probably not, but this wasn't just something he could pass up. It was just too good, "Here's some music for the occasion."

"Oh fuck you, you didn't." Grabbing for the Discman, she was thwarted by the squirrelly behemoth in the passenger seat.

"Oh, I did." Laughing, Sam turned the volume up.

"... _Let's have some fun, this beat is sick, I wanna take a ride on your disco stick…"_

"You know what, whatever." Crossing her arms, she kept a bland expression firmly in place, betrayed only by the tips of her ears turning red, "It's just a song. You read too much into shit….you are such an asshole."


	7. Chapter 7

After dropping Skye off at the motel room to get changed, the boys took a trip to 'Mort's for Style' to get something to wear that might get them in the door of the NTSB. ...If they were lucky.

Just under an hour later the boys exited the shop, Dean pulling uncomfortably on the collar of his white dress-shirt before looking down at the black suit and tie he'd been coerced into donning, a sour expression on his pretty face, "Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers."

"No, you don't." Dressed in a matching suit and tie, Sam looked perfectly at home in his new suit, not to mention pretty damn good all around, "You look more like a seventh grader getting ready for his first dance."

"Shut up. I hate this thing." Shrugging his shoulders to try and get the jacket to feel a little less restrictive, Dean just couldn't get comfortable, though it was more psychological than physical. He just didn't feel right without his denim and leather, that was like his armor. And this? This made him feel vulnerable in a way he really did not like, "Skye's gonna laugh her ass off.

"Relax. You want to get into that warehouse or not?" Grinning at Dean's wordless affirmative, Sam opened the passenger door, looking over the car at his brother, "Yeah, probably. I would. Now let's go get your date, kiddo, got to have you guys home by curfew."

* * *

Pulling up outside the motel, the boys got out to retrieve their partner, both a little concerned that she'd look too young and out of place to pull this off. If they had to leave her behind, they'd never hear the end of it and she'd be really unpleasant to live with for awhile. They needn't have worried. Prevented from opening the door by the chain lock, Dean rolled his eyes and leaned against the doorframe, speaking through the crack in the door, "You ready yet? We need to get rollin'."

"Yeah, like two minutes." The voice on the other sound of the door sounded mildly anxious, which likely meant she was a bundle of nerves, "And I swear to God, if you laugh, I will smother you in your sleep."

Grinning, Dean shut the door and walked over to lean against the hood of the car, ankles crossed and hands in the pockets of his pants with Sam taking an identical pose next to him.

"How can she not be ready yet?" Taking his hand out of his pocket, Sam checked his watch, wondering what she'd been up to that could take so long. The girl had never taken longer than half an hour to get ready for anything in the entire time he'd known her, "She's had almost twice as long as we did."

Rolling his eyes, Dean shrugged, opening his mouth to say something when the door opened. Stepping out and closing the door behind her, she was dressed in a black pantsuit with slim black pants and a white silk top peeking out from under the matching jacket. The suit fit like it was tailored to her...probably because it fucking was. Do you know how hard it is to find a half-decent suit small enough to fit a five-foot-tall child-size woman? The closest you can get without tailoring are abominations meant to be worn to Easter dinner or your third-cousin twice removed roommate's nephew's bar mitzvah. Not good options for lying to federal agents.

The braid she usually wore over her shoulder had been brushed out and twisted up into a fashionable knot at the nape of her neck and whatever she'd done with her make-up had added a subtle five years to her age without making it obvious she was wearing anything beyond a little dark lipstick and some eyeliner. Not an easy feat. She'd spent hours over the last couple of weeks learning to do exactly that, all while refusing to tell the boys what she was up to or letting them see her until all trace of cosmetics had been washed away. Even her biker boots had been changed for a pair of black four-inch slingback heels. Feeling self-conscious and trying hard not to show it, she looked up at Sam, pointedly avoiding looking anywhere in Dean's direction, "What do you think?"

"Not bad, Little Bit." Straightening, Sam closed the small distance between them and gave her a good once-over before pointing down at her shoes, "Can you run in those?"

Always a possibility on a job. Okay, who are we kidding, it's almost always a guarantee at some point.

"Thanks, you almost look like you're not a total asshat." Okay, maybe still a tad irritated at the move he'd pulled earlier in the car. Looking down at her shoes, she looked back up with a grin, "Oh yeah. There's a  _lot_  of choreography that's specifically done for everything from pumps to eight-inch stilettos. I'm Ginger Rogers, baby."

Not an exaggeration, she could do just about anything in heels, even cartwheels and handsprings. Of course, her feet and back might ache like a bitch for three days afterward, but nothing she couldn't handle.

"Good deal." Stepping aside, Sam lifted an arm toward the car, "After you, Agent Harry."

Taking a breath, Skye finally looked up at Dean, anxious she'd see him laughing. Not too sure her not-exactly-sky-high self-esteem could have taken that hit. She needn't have worried. Getting to his feet as Sam finally moved his lanky ass, Dean's breath caught as he got a good look at the young woman who'd come to dominate his thoughts lately. Hugging curves she normally kept hidden under three layers of clothing, the tailored suit showed her off to advantage. Anyone getting a look at her in that would have no doubt she was a grown woman and not the child she was sometimes mistaken for.

"You look…" Slowly crossing the space between them without any conscious decision to do so, Dean looked down at her, clearing his throat before trying to speak again, "You don't look half bad, Tinkerbell."

"Thanks." Getting a good look at him, she let out a slow breath as her pulse stuttered for a second, a half-smile curving one corner of her lips before she reached up to needlessly adjust his tie, "You kinda clean up good, Winchester. Who woulda thought…"

Laying a hand on his chest just a moment longer than necessary, she could feel his heart beating too fast under her palm as he took half a step closer. Too close. ...or maybe not close enough. Okay, not a thought she needed to deal with right now. A minute stretched into five years or so before Sam cleared his throat and stuck his nose in, literally, leaning in between the two of them close enough to burst their rapidly growing little bubble of sexual tension.

"You can both take cold showers later, you freaks of nature." Stepping back with a smirk on his lips, Sam gestured toward the Impala, "Get in the car or I will get the hose."

Idle threat, he didn't have a hose. Or a faucet to hook a hose to. He did, however, have access to an ice machine that probably would have ultimately had the same effect. The two freaks of nature had both twitched when he'd cleared his throat, having absolutely forgotten that he was right there, both subsequently turning complimentary shades of pink.

Let me tell you, Dean Winchester blushing is a sight every hetero woman on the planet should get to see at least once. Gay men too, for that matter. Well, at least that's what Skye was thinking as she got her ass in the car before Sam could make any more threats. Hey, at least he'd been nice enough to let her have the front seat, Dean holding the door for her as he played the gentleman. He really did look damn good in a suit. Or jeans. Or just in general. Hell, even covered in mud he'd been kind of adorable.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Skye took a deep breath as the mental image of Dean's suit lying in a crumpled heap on the floor took a minute to shove out of her mind. She'd have to give herself another long lecture about why getting involved with Winchester was a Horrible Terrible No Good Really Fucking Bad Idea. Going beyond flirting was practically guaranteed to end in a disaster of epic proportions. So she kept telling herself. Which, you know, not at all effective.

"You know you're both pitiful, right?" Speaking up from the backseat, Sam didn't even try to keep the laughter out of his voice, "I mean, seriously."

Trading a look, Dean and Skye spoke in unison, in complete agreement on this one issue, "...shut up, Sam."


	8. Chapter 8

After driving around the block a couple of times to pick an escape route, they parked down the block and around the corner from the NTSB hangar where the remains of the doomed airliner were being kept. While the boys had been professional liars for quite some time, this was the first time they'd done anything quite like this. Approaching the forbidding building, all three took in the security measures in place. The fifteen foot fence topped with razor wire, the armed guards, the security cameras. Oh, this should be a blast. They'd no trouble at all getting in the door. In fact, anyone could just walk in, it wasn't locked. Now, getting passed the three armed guards blocking the locked entrance to the hangar… That was another story entirely.

Almost perfectly in sync, the three felons pulled out their ID's with shiny matching badges, showing them to the attentive security guard. After a tense moment, the guard nodded and buzzed them in, the look on Dean's face as they went through the door was priceless and incredibly endearing. He was just so proud of the work he'd done on those IDs. And with good reason. Wasn't easy to make something like that at a cheap ass copy shop.

Stepping through the thick metal doors, they all breathed a sigh of relief when they closed behind them. Placing a fingertip under her chin, he turned her head to look up at him, wanting to be sure she was really as cool as she seemed, "Doing okay there, Tink?"

"Oh, I'm golden, Ponyboy." Grinning up at him, the corners of her whiskey-brown eyes crinkling in amusement as she brushed his hand away. She was having fun with this, "Come on, Michelangelo, get on with it."

"Are you callin' me a turtle again?" Pulling a little plastic box out of his pocket, he stuck an earpiece in his ear before turning the device on, walking slowly down the aisle leading away from the door, "I really am rubbing off on you."

"Nope. I know you might not be aware, but that's also the name of a famous artist, also created forgeries." The click of her heels on the concrete floor sped up as she moved to catch up with Sam, "...and not yet, you're not."

Pausing, he tilted his head and watched her walk away, wondering if he'd just heard what he thought he did or if he was imagining things. She couldn't possibly have meant what that sounded like, right? Shaking his head, he quickly caught up with the two of them, waving the box in his hand slowly along the various pieces of wreckage they passed. Charred plastic, twisted metal, torn fabric and wires with blood staining odd pieces here and there. It was pretty horrific, really, imagining all those people knowing they were about to die and not being able to do a damn thing to stop it.

"Did you just-?"

"Did I just what, Winchester?" Hands clasped behind her back, she smiled up at him, all innocence and light, "So whatcha got there?"

"You're fuckin' with me." Pointing at her with the plastic box in his hand, he narrowed his eyes and gave her a long look before answering, "It's an E.M.F. meter, reads electromagnetic frequencies."

"Am I? Why didn't you tell me, I'dve at least taken off my jacket."

That one got a chuckle out of Sam. Glancing back at the two of them, he saw the EMF in Dean's hand, "Why does that look like a busted up Walkman?"

"Woman-" Unable to think of a suitable threat to follow up with, Dean cut himself off and answered Sam instead. Tip of his tongue between his teeth, he grinned, all self-satisfied, " 'Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade."

He's was cute when he was all proud of himself. In a kind of obnoxious way.

"Yeah…" Giving him a look like a teacher talking to a preschooler, the condescension in Sam's voice wiped the pride off his face like Sam had just kicked his puppy. Then lit it on fire, "I can see that."

"Wow. Dick." Crossing her arms, she looked up at Sam, taking up for Dean without really meaning to, "How many people even know what an EMF is, let alone how to make one from a fuckin' Walkman."

It wasn't hard to see she thought he was pretty damn smart, though it'd take a team of wild horses to drag that admission out of her. Smug look right back on his face, Dean shot Sam a 'fuck you' smile, prouder of the fact that Skye thought he was clever than he was of the EMF itself. Waving the homemade gadget over the debris, he and Sam made their slow way deeper into the labyrinth of parts while Skye fell behind.

Taking a good look around her for the first time since they'd stepped inside, she took in the pieces of ruin littered around her, thoughts of the people that died crowding into her mind. People that died horribly. For a moment, she could almost hear the screams in her imagination echoing around her. All those people, brought down by something they should never have had to face. They had all been something to someone. Someone's father, someone's sister, someone's baby boy. Up until now, Skye had mostly been along for the ride. After all, it's not like she had much choice, so might as well buckle in and enjoy, right?

She hadn't much cared what they did or where they went, as long as she got to go too. Even without the curse binding her to Dean, she'd have followed them, though she wasn't sure they knew that. Hell, they were the only family she'd ever really known. The only friends she'd ever had. So far, that had been her entire reason for doing any of this but now…

Reaching out to touch a piece of torn fuselage, she would later remember this as the moment she made up her mind to do this, Winchesters or no Winchesters. It was people like them, like  _her_ , that could save others from having their families ripped apart from such senseless deaths. Happy families, like the one she'd wished she had. It was a job worth doing. It was a sobering thought, realizing that even if she had a chance at a normal life, there's no way she'd take it now.

"Hey, Agent Harry, you going to catch up to the rest of the class?"

"Stick it, Stilts." Turning her attention back to the boys, she quickly caught up to them, "Find anything?"

"Not y-"

Cutting Sam off before he could finish, Dean called them both over to where he stood by the plane's exit door, the box in his hand flashing lights like it wanted to grow up to be a Pink Floyd laser-light show, "Guys, check out the emergency door handle."

Stepping closer, they took a good look at the thick film of yellowish residue coating the dark metal. Rubbing a finger across it, Skye took a closer look, rubbing it between her fingertips, "What is this stuff?"

"Only one way to find out." Pulling a small baggie and a pocket knife out of his jacket, Sam scraped some of it off into the bag before stashing it all away again

Smirking, Dean looked away, pretending not to notice when Skye wiped her fingers on Sam's suit jacket. Eyes narrowing, their collective spidey-senses started tingling, Skye giving voice to what they were all thinking, "You know, I think it's time to make like a tree and get the fuck outta Dodge."

"Back door." Ushering the others ahead of him, Dean directed them to the exit, making their way across the large room in record time. The door swung closed just as four armed guards busted into the hangar through the entrance, guns drawn as they looked for the fake Agents. Their cover was officially blown. Casually heading toward the gate, they tried for nonchalance and fell far short. Awkward much? Their slow progress was sped up considerably when the alarms sounded, the shriek piercing the air as red and orange lights lit up along the fence.

Yup, time to take King Julien's advice and 'move it, move it'. Breaking into a run, Skye proved she was indeed able to function just fine in heels, a skill that would prove valuable over the years. As they approached the fence, Dean hastily slipped out of his suit jacket, tossing it over the razor wire to shield them from getting sliced and diced. Up and over in no time flat, Skye wished she had a second to stop and admire his rather surprising agility before she was scrambling up the fence after him like a cracked-out monkey, dropping over as soon as she'd cleared the top.

Trusting Dean would catch her. Which of course he did, because what kind of bullshit story would this be if he hadn't? Taking her weight easily, Dean grinned at her as he set her on her feet, Sam hitting the ground next to them. Jumping up, Dean ripped his jacket off the fence and grabbed Skye's hand, all three of them making a hasty getaway.


	9. Chapter 9

After calling Jerry, he assured them he had the equipment they'd need to identify the mystery substance, so of course they ended up back in his cluttered office where he'd set up a microscope and a box of slides for them.

"You guys know how to use this stuff?" Giving Skye a longer look than necessary, Jerry cleared his throat and looked away when he caught Dean giving him a look that couldn't be interpreted any other way than Back off. Mine'.

"Yes." Answering simultaneously, Skye and Sam shared a 'hail and well-met fellow nerd' kind of look.

"Good, take your time." Opening the door, very intentionally  _not_  looking at the girl, Jerry made his exit, "If you'll excuse me, I have an idiot to fire."

Giving his brother a long look before turning his attention to Skye, Dean's behavior not lost on Sam. 'The girl' herself seemed oblivious. Seemed. Over the last few weeks, Sam was slowly started to realize that she was far more conscious her of surroundings than she ever let on. Hyper aware of everything and everyone any time they were in public, only letting herself relax when the three of them were alone. It had to be an exhausting way to live. Digging the bag of mystery dust out of his suit pocket, Sam held it up and wiggled it in Skye's direction, "Who gets to do the honors?"

"Are you geeks fighting over a toy?" Rolling his eyes at them both, Dean took off his jacket and threw it over the back of the chair, loosening his tie as he turned to lean against the desk to watch the battle, "You really know how to use that thing, Tinkerbell?"

"Yes and yes." Holding her hands out, left palm up and right in a fist, Skye flashed Sam an insolent grin, "Bring it, frat boy."

"Hey." He looked a little offended at that one. Pointing a finger at her before holding out his own hands, the mystery baggie held in his clenched, fist "I was never in a frat."

"Ooh, hit a nerve there. They wouldn't take you, huh. Tough luck there, man." Someday the girl was going to talk shit to someone and get smacked. Kind of inevitable, really.

One. Two. Three. Sam played rock. Skye played paper. Dean played with the idea of leaving them both there and getting a burger. Sam handed her the baggie before sitting his frat boy ass down in one of the chairs in front of the desk, legs stretched out in front of him. Really, he didn't mind letting her take over some of the 'nerdy' stuff that fell in his purview. Besides, she couldn't use a computer to save her life, so it wasn't like he was readily replaceable. "Are you still pissed about the radio?"

"No, not really." Taking off her own jacket, she laid it on the desk before starting to prep a sample of their puzzling powder, glancing up at Sam with an impudent look, "I'm just givin' you a hard time, Sam."

With her wearing that top, it wasn't Sam that was having a hard time...

"Dude." Leaning over, Sam smacked his brother's arm, ripping Dean's attention away from the clingy silk top Skye was wearing, "Blink."

"It's sulfur." Looking up from where she bent over the microscope, she pursed her lips, "What all leaves sulfur?"

"Really?" Leaning forward, Sam suddenly felt the need to quit mulling over other issues and pay attention, "You're sure?"

Waving a hand over the microscope, she took a step back, "Take a look for yourself."

Deciding he wanted to do exactly that, Dean got up and made his way around to the microscope. Leaning over to take a look, he used it as a handy excuse to invade Skye's personal space. Again. Slipping an arm around her waist when she tried to step out of the way, he effectively held her hostage while he double-checked her work. Not that she was protesting overmuch.

Pushing the microscope away, Dean straightened, a hand still on Skye's hip, "Definitely sulfur."

"How would you know?" That may not have been intended to be as insulting as it came out, but then, Sam sounded offensively skeptical.

"You're not the only ones that ever took a chemistry class, asshole."

Somehow or other Skye had ended up with her back half-against Dean, no idea how that could possibly have happened. None whatsoever. Uh-huh. Turning her head to look up at him, she smiled, the thought of moving away not even entering her mind, "Penny for your thoughts, Winchester."

"I think-" Looking down at her, he was close enough to smell cinnamon toothpaste and an underlying hint of that same sweet fragrance that clung to the rest of her, "I think I really like that shirt. ...I also think you've been stealing my toothpaste."

"Really?" Raising a brow, an 'I dare you' smirk on her lips, "Prove it, Sherlock."

Leaning in a little closer, Dean smirked, "Oh, I-"

"Guys." Throwing an empty soda can at them that he plucked out of the trash bin next to the desk, Sam rudely got their attention, "You do remember what we're doing here, right?"

Goddammit, Sammy.

"Right." Abruptly shifting gears wasn't always the easiest thing in the world. Taking half a step back, Dean took a deep breath, clearing his head of the scent of her. "There's not too many things that leave behind a sulfuric residue."

None of the options were good ones. Leaning a hip against the desk, Skye put a little more space between her and Romeo as she cleared her own head, wrenching her attention back around to where it should have been the whole damn time, "Demonic possession?"

"It would explain how a mortal man would have the strength to open up the emergency hatch mid-flight." Managing a smile for his little protege, Sam couldn't help hoping she didn't turn out to be something equally nasty. Something that didn't react to Holy Water.

"If the guy was possessed…Yeah, it's possible." Crossing his arms over his chest, Dean leaned back against the wall, he tried not to show how concerned he was at the possibility, "This goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. It's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire airplane?"

"Have you heard of anything like this before?" Reaching up, Skye tugged at the hair tie keeping the knot at her neck in place, removing it before shaking her hair out. This was fidgeting territory and she needed her braid back for that.

"Never." Watching her twist her hair back into her usual style, Dean's concern was partially replaced by something else entirely.

"Great."

"I think we should head back to the motel. Order some food, do some research, maybe catch a couple hours." Standing, Sam looked at the two of them for a minute, "You two coming or should I put a sock on the doorknob on my way out?"

"Sammy, how do you feel about superglue?" Helping Skye into her suit jacket before retrieving his own and throwing it over his arm, he turned to look at his brother, "'Cause I'm about to use some on that mouth."

Opening the door and holding it for them, Sam rolled his eyes until they creaked, waving at them to hurry up. Gesturing for Skye to precede him, Dean couldn't resist asking, "You were fuckin' with me, right?"

Throwing a grin back over her shoulder as she stepped out the door and turned to wait, smiling mischievously up at Dean"How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?"

"...what?" Confused, Sam frowned, wondering where the hell that came from.

Pressing his lips together, Dean answered without missing a beat, " 'The world may never know'. ...smartass."


	10. Chapter 10

Flipping on the light to reveal hideously pepto-pink and white wallpaper, Skye took a look around their newest extremely-short-term rental. It was pretty standard. Two beds, hideous green duvet covers, dresser, TV, table, vomit green used-to-be-a-carpet. Home sweet decorating disaster. Dropping her bag and a box of books onto the bed nearest the door, she wasted no time in peeling her jacket off and tossing it over the box, sitting down with a sigh of relief to peel off her heels as the boys walked in with their own hands full. She might be able to do everything Fred Astaire did backward and in heels, didn't mean she had to like it.

The faint metallic clink of weaponry came from the duffle slung over Dean's shoulder before he dropped it onto the floor with a firm thud, Sam's arms full of his laptop, papers, and more books.

"Did we decide on Chinese?" Turning to crawl up to the head of the bed, Skye grabbed the motel phone off the table stuck between the two beds, rolling onto her back as she dialed the number of the Chinese place three blocks over.

"General Tsos and egg rolls." Stripping off his suit jacket with an eagerness that matched Skye's, Dean threw it onto the foot of the bed and loosened his tie as he nodded an affirmative. Slipping his tie off, Dean tossed it onto his jacket before untucking his shirt and unsnapping his cuffs, too intent on getting comfortable to notice the girl watching every move.

"Sam?" Leveraging herself up onto her elbows, she kept one ear on the ringing phone line, the other on Sam, and both eyes on the guy unbuttoning the top three buttons on his collar so fast it was a wonder they didn't just pop off, "Your usual or you gonna change it up today?"

"The usual. Double order." Sitting down at the table, he flipped open his laptop, not bothering to take off his jacket or tie yet. Powering up his computer before leaning back to kick off his boots, he figured he'd better hurry or he'd lost first dibs on the bathroom.

Speaking into the handset, Skye ordered their dinner. General Tsos, Sesame Chicken and Lo Mein with a metric ton of wontons and egg rolls. Catching Sam's eye, she looked from him to the bathroom and back, raising a brow as she confirmed the order with the person on the other end of the line. Flashing Skye her own favorite hand gesture, Sam took the hint and grabbed his bag, disappearing into the bathroom.

"Should be about forty minutes," Returning the handset to its cradle, she laid back with her hands laced behind her head, closing her eyes for a minute before feeling the sag of the mattress next to her when Dean sat down. Rolling onto her stomach, she pillowed her head on her arm, watching him as he leaned over to take off his boots. Watching the way his shoulders moved, the play of muscles in his back under the dress-shirt that did very little to hide any of it. Not like she didn't know exactly what was under there anyway and it was entirely too easy to imagine things she really shouldn't… She rolled onto her stomach and rested her forehead on her arm, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Sam needed to hurry the fuck up with the shower.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he looked down at her, "You okay over there?"

"Grand." Her voice muffled by the mattress, she lifted her free hand off the mattress a few inches and flicked her fingers at him to get him to go away, "Just tired."

Finishing with the last few buttons on his shirt, he gave the damn thing a dirty look and threw it onto the foot of the bed next to everything else before laying down next to Skye. Closing his eyes for a minute, he was on the verge of dozing off when a strangled groan made him open an eye to find the girl looking at him, "Somethin' I can help you with, Tinkerbell?"

Oh, lots of things. "Nope."

Rolling onto his side, he propped his head in his hand, a half-smile on those stupidly perfect lips, "You sure about that?"

Shifting to mirror his position with her head propped in the palm of her hand, she let her eyes drift a little further than she should before meeting his gaze with a taunting smile, "What could I possibly want your help with, Winchester?"

"Would you like a list?" Laying his free hand over hers, he bit his bottom lip before flashing her a suggestive smile, " 'Cause I can think of several things."

"Hmm, let me think about that for a minute... I'm good, thanks." Uh-huh.

"Oh, I bet you are." He let his hand drift up from where it had been, slowly skimming her skin with his fingertips, leaving goosebumps in his wake, " 'Course we'd need to test that theory."

"Walked right into that one, didn't I?" Skin tingling, she tried to ignore the rapid beat of her heart. If she was smart, she'd put a definitive end to this right now. If she was smart, she'd get up and walk out. If she was smart… Dumb as a box of rocks, this bitch.

"Little bit." Sliding his hand up under the edge of the sleeveless silk top she wore, he caressed her shoulder, breathing in the dizzying scent of her. Watching her expression, wary of any sign that he needed to back off, he ran his hand lazily over her shoulder and down, enjoying the feel of silk on skin. Resting his hand against her ribs, he could feel her heart racing under his palm. As fast as his own.

"You know..." Sliding his hand around to the small of her back, he pulled her closer, warm breath against her ear, "This is a motel. There are other rooms."

"Dean…" Reluctantly bringing herself back to reality, she wondered how in the hell she'd ended up pressed so closely against him. And also why he had to be shirtless. And so damn pretty. And he smelled good, Jesus fucking Christ she needed a cold shower. ...and she wasn't the only one. Putting a hand on his chest, feeling his heart drumming against his ribs just as hard as hers was, she somehow managed enough self-control to push him a few inches away. Someone nominate the girl for Sainthood.

"Sorry, I ain't that easy." Closing her eyes, she shook her head, her expression changing to a sardonic smile edged with a hint of regret when she opened them again, "Don't really do the whole casual sex thing. You know, there's a bar down the street where you could try your luck…"

"Skye..." Abruptly turning serious, he reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear before letting his fingertips trace the curve of her jaw, tilting her head up to look at him, "You really think that's all this is?"

"I-" The flippant answer she was going to give died on her lips, the sardonic smile fading when she saw the way he was looking at her. Like… Like she  _mattered_. Like she was worth something. ...like he cared.

"I don't know." Sitting up, she let all the sarcasm and humor she used to keep everyone out fall away and just looked at him, letting him see exactly how she was really feeling without trying to hide it, "What  _do_  you want, Dean?"

"You." Not quite what he'd originally intended to say but he couldn't answer the vulnerability and fear he saw with anything less than the full truth. Sitting up slowly, he looked down at her, reaching a hand up to caress her cheek with his knuckles, "The issues, the baggage, the insufferable attitude and sarcasm...All of it. I know there's somethin' here, Skyler, and I know you feel it too. I want to see where it could go."

The speed and utter ruthlessness she used to smother the flicker of hope that sparked in her eyes was heartbreakingly telling. There was such a sweet young woman buried under all that humor and bravado, he couldn't stand the idea of not being there to be a bulwark between her and a world that had been trying to break her for as long as she could remember. "...but I was thinkin' we could start with dinner."

Eyes half closed, she leaned into his touch, taking entirely too long to dredge up enough shreds of willpower to shoot him down. Not that she wanted to. God, did she not want to. But… Dammit, she was nothing. Worthless. No, worse than that, she was a goddamn  _liability_. Why in the hell would he possibly be as serious about her as he seemed to be? It didn't make any sense.

"I just-" Pressing her lips firmly together, it took her a second to force herself to say it, "I don't think it's a good idea, Dean."

Because that vague-ass answer was going to deter him.

"Why not?" Taking her hand in his, he pulled her closer, a half-smile tilting up one corner of his lips, "Is it 'cause I've never had a relationship last longer than it took to buy the condoms?"

"Oh, that  _son of a bitch_. I'm gonna shank that lanky-ass motherfucker." Struggling not to smile, half-pissed, half-amused and half-still-trying-to-deal-with-this-conversation. Yes, I know, that makes three halves. Bite me, "He wasn't supposed to tell you that."

"You didn't answer the question." It wasn't hard to notice that she hadn't taken her hand back or moved away, either, "Dinner, that's all I'm askin'. ...I'll even wear a suit."

The ultimate sacrifice. How could she say no to that?

"You're incorrigible, you know that?" Tilting her head she studied their clasped hands before looking back up at him, laughter dancing behind her eyes, "I think-"

The sound of the bathroom door opening interrupted whatever she'd been about to say. Which could possibly maybe have been something along the lines of 'I think we could do dinner.' But of course now we'll never know.

"Saved by the Sasquatch." Gently removing her hand from Dean's grasp, she got to her feet, reminding herself in that moment why exactly Dean Matthew Winchester was a bad idea. A terrible awful horrible fantastic incredibly appealing idea. Wait. Not where she was going with that.

"Fuckin'..." Christ, why couldn't Sam have waited twenty goddamn seconds, "What were you gonna say?"

"Don't remember." Grabbing her bag, she walked by Sam, pausing on her way in to take over the bathroom to look up at the lanky-ass motherfucker she still needed to beat the snot out of, "One, you're a dick. Two, your brother is the devil, and three...you have perfect timing."

"Oh bullshit, you remember everything since the dawn of time. Skye...Skyler…." The click of the bathroom door lock made it pretty clear that she was being stubborn as fuck and he wasn't going to find out. Falling backward onto the bed, Dean grabbed a pillow and stuck it over his face, pressing down hard in a futile effort to suffocate himself. ...before he ended up suffocating both her and his brother.

"So...I think I interrupted something." Raising a brow at his brother, his statement was met with a pillow to the face as Dean sat up and flung the thing unerringly at Sam's head.

"The fuck you did." Sitting up with his feet on the floor, Dean ran a hand through his hair before wiping a hand over his face, "You have the worst timing, dude. Seriously. She was gonna say yes."

"Wait, you actually asked her out?" Tossing his towel onto the bed furthest from the door, Sam dropped down to sit on the edge of it, "And she said…"

"Well, she said no. Uh, then there may have been something about her killing you and then she said I was incorrigible." Frustration and amusement took a second to battle it out in Dean's head, finally ending with amused standing victor, "Then she was about to say yes and you had to walk your freak ass outta the bathroom at the exact wrong time."

"She called you the devil." Laughing, at least on the outside, Sam couldn't help a sigh of purely internal relief that she had turned him down. He still had time to figure shit out before those two got more involved than they already were, "Dude, incorrigible also not a good thing...and why the hell does she want to kill me? What did you do?"

"Yeah, well, she didn't mean it." Getting up to answer the knock on the door that was their Chinese food, Dean paid the man and gave him a decent tip before closing the door to resume the conversation, "It might somehow have come up that you told me what she said about the whole...my past relationships thing."

"Oh, it just somehow came up?" Grabbing the bag from him, Sam glowered at his brother and plunked the overfilled sack down on the table next to his laptop, "Now how did that happen, I wonder."

An innocent smile on his lips, Dean avoided looking at Sam as he got an order of egg rolls, "...no idea."

* * *

Three hours later, the pepto-pink and white walls were almost hidden by various pictures, articles and notes as the three intrepid Hunters stuck their noses as far as they could into researching what they were up again. Really, the whole thing was kind of scarily reminiscent of the way they'd found John's room back in Jericho. Only, you know, with less half eaten burgers and more barely repressed sexual tension.

Re-reading the same passage for the third time, Skye felt her eyes starting to cross. If she ever got her hands on the guy that wrote this convoluted mess of wannabe prose, she'd cheerfully shoot him in the head. Course judging by the age of the book, he was likely already dead. Rubbing her eyes, she looked up at the two others that occupied the increasingly cluttered space. Sam typing away at his laptop and Dean sitting on the other bed surrounded by just as many books and notes as she was. And she'd once thought the man didn't read.

Leaning back against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him, Dean looked up from his own convoluted book of nonsense in time to watch Skye stand up and stretch, hands clasped high over her head. Watched the tank-top she wore ride up to reveal a flat stomach and smooth skin that he knew, in his admittedly limited experience, was every bit as soft as it looked.

"Alright." Snapping the book closed, he tossed it onto the pile next to him and got to his feet, reciting useless bullshit in his head to keep his mind off of other things, "I need a coffee run. Guys?"

Mostly he just needed to get out of this room and away from her for a minute to get a little air and keep his head from double entendre intended...hehehe.

"That would be great." Raising his eyes from his computer screen, Sam gave his brother a tight smile, "Like six of 'em."

He was only half joking.

"Espresso in a big gulp, gotcha." Sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots, he looked up at the tiny tired teen who was currently standing with her back to the wall, bending in a way that shouldn't be humanly possible, "Skye, when you're done breakin' your spine, you want caffeine?"

"Yes, please." Straightening, she crossed her arms, a strained smile mixing with a self-deprecating expression that left no ambiguity to her words, "Just ...feelin' a little tense."

"I wonder why." Not looking up, Sam couldn't help popping off, more as a knee-jerk reaction than because he really wanted to add his two cents.

"Eat me, blowhard."

"Hey, if you're ta-"

"Winchester." Snapping her head around to glare at the eldest of the two assholes she was sharing a room with, she raised a warning finger in his direction, "So help me God, if you finish that sentence, I will not be responsible for how many pieces they find your body in."

"Aww, Tinkerbell's showin' teeth." Shrugging his jacket on over a black t-shirt and his blue button-up, he grabbed the keys out of his pocket, smart enough to head for the door before he finished his thought, "I wonder if her bite's as good as her bark."

Laughing, he ducked out the door a few seconds before a book slammed into it right about where his head had been.

Rubbing tired eyes, she started to return to the stupid book she'd been going through when Sam got her attention. Leaning back in his chair, he looked at her over the top of his computer, "Were you really about to say yes?"

Rubbing the back of her neck, she tried to keep a grin off her face and failed, looking over at Sam from under her lashes, "...it's not outside the realm of possibility."

Putting a foot on the chair next to him, he pushed it out in silent invitation for her to join him, "So why don't you?"

"Sam, has anyone ever told you you're an interfering old woman?" Picking up the book off the floor from in front of the door, she crossed over to sit in the offered chair, tossing the book onto the table, "You know why. You  _told him_  why. Which, still a dick move, bro."

"Uh-huh." Managing a smile, he closed his laptop and moved it out of the way, crossing his arms on the tabletop and looking at her. He wasn't actually trying to interfere, still at war with himself over the possibility that she wasn't as innocent as she seemed. He didn't want to encourage whatever was growing between the two of them in case she was some sort of wolf in sheep's clothing, but he didn't want to discourage it either because… Well, what if she was exactly what she appeared to be? Hell, even without Dean as a factor, he liked the girl. She was the best friend he had and he was desperately hoping that prickling suspicion in the back of his mind was dead wrong. In the meantime, he was trying to act as normally as possible and it wasn't easy.

"So tell me again, why aren't you dating yet?" Leaning back in his chair, he studied her, picking up on the subtle cues she showed when she was as close to relaxed as she ever got, "...you're scared."

Opening her mouth to deny it, she closed it again and didn't say anything for long enough that Sam thought maybe he'd lost his shot at the conversation.

"...yup." Raising a hand in an endearingly helpless gesture, she let it drop back into her lap, looking up at Sam with brown eyes that just looked totally lost, "I'm fuckin' terrified."

Okay. He'd been expecting her to play it off, to make a joke or roll her eyes and was taken by surprise when she didn't. He could count the number of times he'd had a conversation with the real Skye on one hand and he hadn't really expected this to be one of them.

"Why?"The girl had faced down a Wendigo without blinking and a homicidal ghost with barely a twitch...and she was scared to go out with his brother? A simple question with a complicated answer.

"There's...there's a lot you guys don't know about me, Sam. I mean, fucks sake, we've known each other for what? Two months? This whole situation is ridiculous." Sitting up straight, she pulled a knee up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her leg, chin on her knee as she looked at him She fell quiet again and Sam had the good sense not to say anything, knowing she wasn't done with whatever had been rolling around in her brain. Closing her eyes, between one heartbeat and the next, she went from sounding pretty self-assured to sounding like the socially inept teenager she really was "What if he learns something about me he doesn't like? What if he changes his mind? Hell, what if I just suck in bed and he gets bored? And I'm just-I don't think I could handle that."

"Skyler." Leaning forward with his arms on his knees, he stared at her intensely before asking the question that he was pretty damn sure he already knew the answer to. If he was going to ask, now was definitely the time, "Are you in love with my brother?"

"Seriously? What the hell, man..." Letting her foot drop to the floor, she gave a half-hearted attempt at a mental retreat, trying to blow it off. It was getting harder to do. The more she let Dean in, the harder it was to keep everything else out. That alone was terrifying. Wrapping her arms around herself, she gave up trying. Fuck it. YOLO or some shit, right? "Yes."

Weird how one word can convey so much more than just three letters are ever supposed to encompass. In this case it was 'hopelessly, desperately head over heels'. Because that's a surprise to no one.

Watching her, Sam would swear right then that she was being completely honest, one of the few times in her life she had ever been. As of that moment, he was willing to bet his life she was exactly what she seemed to be. He just wasn't sure if he was ready to bet Dean's.

"How long?" Smiling, Sam relaxed more than he had in the last couple of days. He was like 95% sure. He'd make some phone calls, of course, and keep looking into her but for now he'd at least be able to act normally around her.

And if worse came to worst...he'd kill her. If he could.

"How long have I been ...or when did I realize because two different questions." Laying her chin on her crossed arms on the table top, she laughed, blinking rapidly to clear eyes gone bright with tears she wouldn't shed. Big girls don't cry. Sounding as awkward as any normal teen girl discussing the guy she was interested in, she stifled a nervous giggle. Big girls didn't fucking giggle either, "I don't know when, exactly, it...But uh, I knew when the Wendigo took him. When he disappeared, I'd never been more terrified in my life and when I saw him hanging up in the mine...I don't know why I'm telling you this, I'm still mad at you for opening your big mouth about the last shit I told you."

"You're telling me 'cause you love me, too." Grinning at her, he shook his head, "Just not in the same way."

"Duh. You're like the obnoxious older brother I never knew I wanted until I got stuck with him." Scrubbing the heels of her hands in her eyes, she took a deep breath, not at all used to any kind of emotionally open conversation, and here she'd had two in one day. Talk about personal growth. She wasn't sure she liked it. Being a person was exhausting.

"Aww, Midget, that may be the nicest thing you've ever said to me." Reaching a freakishly long arm over, he mussed her hair, earning a death glare, "It's okay, I love you too."

Unlike some people, Sam never had a problem admitting that kind of thing. Definitely the more psychologically stable member of the family. ...which isn't saying much. Suspicions or no suspicions, he did love the girl. He'd always been the little brother, being the older one was kind of nice. It would suck beyond words if this ended badly.

"So now you know and all and uh-" Biting her lip, she crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair, foot tapping the air in a beat only she was aware of, "I don't-I don't know-."

Okay, give the girl a break. She'd never done this before.

"Skyler?" Laughing softly, he shook his head, dark hair falling in his eyes. For once, they both looked like a couple of typical kids, "Are you trying to ask for advice?"

"...and failing miserably, help me out, Sammy, Jesus." Sliding down in her chair, she let her arms fall limply by her sides and gave puppy-dog eyes her best shot, "I can't do this kinda thing. What the hell are relationships even like? Not to mention I've never-Dean's already as physical as I've ever been with anyone and I haven't….Oh for the love of God, this is stupid. How do people do this shit?"

"Well, most other people are fully functioning adults with at least a semi-stable background. You're a nutjob with the extreme version of Mommy Dearest." Yup, there was the expected middle finger as she flipped him off, "Are you really sure you want a relationship, Skye?"

"You remember back in Jericho when we were in your Dad's motel room and I said there was no such thing as a stupid question? I lied."

"Oh there's the brat, I was getting worried." Rolling his eyes at the tongue-in-cheek answer he stretched his legs out in front of him, shaking his head, "Well then, you'll be fine. I don't think he's expecting anything except for you to just be you. I mean, I don't see the appeal of such a mouthy little snot but then, he's had more head injuries."

"You're as brainy as Kurt Cobain's garage ceiling." Tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair, she chewed the inside of her cheek, "What about the other thing, Sam?"

"Funny, you're the one always shooting your mouth off." Ooo. Good comeback. Ten points to Gryffindor. "What other thing?"

"The whole physical part of it, you dope." Getting up to grab a beer, only because there was nothing stronger, she sat her ass back down and took a long drink before setting the now half-empty bottle on table, "I mean, I've never even kissed anyone. Okay, not entirely true, I kissed Grandma on the cheek like twice but I'm pretty sure that doesn't count."

"Yeah, I don't think you have anything to worry about there." Shuddering in exaggerated disgust, Sam looked convincingly grossed out, "I've seen you two together and...just follow your instincts or let him take over or whatever, you'll be fine. Take a health class, I'm not giving instructions."

"That's it, I'm done talkin' to you." Beer in hand, she turned sideways in her chair with one leg draped over the arm, the serious part of their discussion very much over, "Forever."

"Oh God, if only." Sitting back down, he pulled his chair to the table and pulled his laptop back over, flipping it open, "Then I might finally get some peace around here."

"I'd go Stephen Hawking, only the voice would sound like Fran Drescher." Looking over as the motel room door opened, she smiled wryly, "And look, there's Mr. Sheffield now."

"Did you just watch all of the TV as a kid?"

"Yup, just about." Setting her empty beer on the table, she slid out of her seat and went to give Dean a hand juggling coffee, "And movies and books. I had a  _lot_  of time on my hands."

"You ever get the feeling you missed something?" Closing the door behind him, he handed Skye her coffee when she met him at the door, "You guys find anything?"

"Because you did." Grabbing Sammy's cup from Dean, she took it over to him and offered it to him, "Niles and I were just discussin' life, the universe, and everything."

"Turns out, the answer is 42." Taking the cup from her, Niles grinned, "Thanks."

"Are you guys speakin' nerd again?" Setting his cup on the table, Dean took off his jacket and threw it over the back of Skye's chair, "And why are you thankin' her? I'm the one that got the coffee. Where's my thanks?"

Rocking back on her heels, Skye looked at Dean speculatively before walking over and looking up at him.

"What? Why are you lookin' at me like that?"

Eyeing her suspiciously, he was completely floored when she grabbed the collar of his shirt and stood on her toes, brushing a kiss against his cheek before letting go and taking a step back, "Thanks for the coffee, Winchester."

Oh, he had definitely missed something.

"What-what…" Clearing his throat, he went another direction entirely, giving himself a second to process, "You guys find anything?"

"Uh yeah, right after you left." Well it had been more like as he was leaving and getting things thrown at him.

That was news to Skye. Pulling a chair up next to hers, Dean took a seat and gestured for Sam to get on with it.

"So every religion and every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession, right?" Turning his computer screen halfway so the others could see it, Sam leaned back in his chair, the look on his face announcing whatever he'd found wasn't good, "Christian, Native American, Hindu...you name it."

"Yeah." Giving Skye a sideways look, he raised a brow at her when she tucked her hand into his, a half-smile curving his lips. She wasn't usually the one to initiate any kind of contact, though she never pulled away when he did. Oh, he was so going to grill Sammy later. Giving his attention back to his brother, he continued the thought, "But none of them describe anything like this."

"Well, that's not exactly true." Rolling his eyes at the them, he tapped the computer screen, "According to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters, both natural and man-made. One causes earthquakes, another causes diseases, and so on."

Leaning forward, Skye was more than a little concerned, "And this one causes plane crashes?"

Well, that was utterly horrifying.

"So what, we got a demon that's evolved with the times?" Heel tapping on the floor like he wanted to pace the floor but didn't want to get up, Dean found the idea enough to make him feel a little sick. He'd seen a lot in his twenty-six years, but this? "Found a way to ratchet up the body count?"

"Okay, so...raise your hand if that freaks you right the fuck out?" Raising her free hand, she glanced at the boys, nodding as they shrugged and raised theirs too, "Oh good, just didn't wanna be the only one."

"Who knows how many planes its brought down before this one."

"I don't know guys." Running a hand through his hair, Dean leaned forward in his seat and rubbed the back of his neck, a humorless chuckle escaping before he took a firm hold of his nerves, "This isn't our normal gig. I mean...demons? They don't want anything but death and destruction for its own sake. This is  _big._ I just-I wish Dad was here."

"Yeah." Running a hand through his own shaggy hair, Sam had to agree. This felt a little above their pay grade, "Me too."

The boys looked at Skye as if expecting a comment of some sort. Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, she sighed, "What? You know, I'm startin' to think I have a reputation. I  _do_  occasionally know when to keep my mouth shut. I was thinkin' this was one a those times but you assholes went and ruined it."

Actually, she wouldn't mind having John around for this one either. Did she like the man? Fuck no. Did he know a lot more than they did about this kind of thing? Yes. Yes, he did. She'd have to be a total backbirth not to realize that.

"Look at that, Sammy, she might be developing a filter after all." Digging into his pocket, Dean pulled out his ringing phone, flipping it open and putting it to his ear, "Hello?"

"Bite me, Winchester."

" _Dean, it's Jerry."_

"Pick a spot, Tinkerbell." Smirking he shushed her, getting an obscene gesture in response, "Sorry about that, what's up, Jerry?"

" _My pilot friend...Chuck Lambert is dead."_

"Wha-" The immediate shift in Dean's manner got the attention of the other two real damn quick, "I'm sorry, what happened?"

" _He and his buddy went up in a small twin about an hour ago. The plane went down."_

"Where?" Gesturing to Skye, he mimed writing something down, his attention on Jerry, "What's the address?"

Retrieving her tactical pen from her jacket, she grabbed the cheap ass motel stationary and handed them over before sitting down on the end of the bed to pull on her boots and grab her jacket. From the sound of it, they were headed out, and soon.

"  _Little place about sixty miles west of here, 1720 Briarwood, just outside of Nazareth."_

"Well I'll try to ignore the irony in that." Waving away questioning looks, he motioned that he'd explain in a second before rubbing at his temple.

It was going to be a long day, he could feel it.

" _I'm sorry?"_

"Nothin', Jerry. Nevermind. Hang in there, alright. We'll catch up with you soon." Flipping his phone closed, he stuffed it back in his pocket before spinning a finger in the air and pointing toward the door, "Round up, we gotta go. There's been another crash."

"Where?" Grabbing his jacket, Sam closed his laptop and stuffed into his bag.

"Nazareth." Grabbing his keys, he headed for the door, knowing they'd be right behind him. If there was one thing they were good at, it was bugging out in a hurry.

"...yeah, that irony you were ignoring is jumpin' up and down, screamin' like a pre-teen at a Backstreet Boys concert."

Holding the door for her, Dean shook his head at her as she walked by, "Baby, you got a way with words."

Hands in her jacket pockets, she turned slowly on a heel and looked up at him, …"Did you just call me baby?"

Blinking, he had to take a second to think about it before he made a face, "Psh, what? No. ...get in the car."

Hand to God, he hadn't realized it'd slipped till she called him on it, it just popped out.

Laughter drifted out from the back of the Impala. Neither of them had a chance to say anything before the jackass in the backseat raised his hand, "I know, I know. 'Shut up, Sammy.'"


	11. Chapter 11

Thirty-six minutes. That's how long it takes to drive sixty miles if the speedometer hovers between 95 and 105 the entire time. In case anyone was wondering. No need for suits or badges this time around, the investigation went a lot quicker. Unsurprisingly, they found the same signs as at the NTSB warehouse. The same EMF readings, the same yellow ash that they were all pretty damn sure was sulfur but they'd need to confirm. Never hurts to dot your t's and cross your i's.

* * *

Leaning against the wall, Skye watched Dean wear a hole in the floor as he waited for Sam's verification of the not-so-mysterious-substance. Stopping in front of the desk and leaning forward with his hands on the edge, Dean asked him as soon as he looked up from the microscope, "Sulfur?"

Nodding grimly, Sam left the microscope and took a seat in the chair in front of Skye, throwing her a questioning look over his shoulder when Dean started to pace again. Shrugging a shoulder, she shook her head. Hell if she knew. Pacing was not a habit Dean normally had.

"Well, that's great." Stopping in the middle of the room, he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to wonder when he was going to be able to grab a couple hours of sleep, "Alright, that's two plane crashes involved Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him."

"With all due respect to Chuck..." Nodding in Jerry's direction, Skye leaned away from the wall, hands in her pockets as she offered him a sympathetic smile, intentionally trying not to trigger the 'Mom' thing, whatever the fuck that was, "...and we are sorry for your loss, Jerry, but if this demon were just after Chuck...that would be the good news."

"I know I'm gonna regret asking." Running a hand through his hair, he gestured for them to bring it. Why was there always bad news? Why never just good news, full stop. Fuck, "What's the bad news?"

"Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into the flight." Running a hand through his own hair in a gesture identical to his brother's, Sam didn't want to announce the bad news anymore than anyone else wanted to hear it, "And so did flight 2485."

"Forty minutes?" If Jerry had hair, he would have run his hand through it too. Alas, he did not, "What does that mean?"

"It's Biblical numerology," Skye spoke up. She might not know ghosts and demons, but she sure as shit knew the Bible, "Noah's ark, the forty-day flood...it means death."

"There have been six plane crashes in the last decade that crashed exactly forty minutes in." Leaning up to sit on the edge of his seat, Sam delivered the last piece of really news that none of them wanted to hear, "No survivors."

"Until now." Pulling on the end of her braid, she chewed on her lip.

"The EVP recording." Sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans, Dean traded a look with his partners, all of them voicing the same thought at the same time.,"No survivors." Creepy. Like those fucking twins from 'The Shining'. Ugh.

"It's goin' after the survivors." Licking his lips, Dean recited a litany of curses in his head. Yeah, this was not shaping up to be the best day ever, "It's tryin' to finish the job."

Sam and Skye traded a look before indulging in their own creepiness, each echoing the other, "Fuck."

* * *

"Thank you for taking our survey, sir, and if you do plan to fly, please don't forget us at United Britannia Airlines," Flipping her phone closed, she stuffed it back in her pocket and leaned back against the passenger side door, "Okay, that's Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Halloway. Go figure, neither man who just survived a horrific plane crash has any plans to fly again any time soon. Who'd a thunk it."

"Real shocker." Dean gave the girl an odd look before looking back at the road, "...you're so not allowed to work in a call center."

"...Okay, first off..What?" She gave the man behind the wheel a 'wtf' stare before turning it into a serene smile. Not  _allowed?_ What is this, 1950? Fuck that, "And second...think you might wanna rephrase that, Winchester? I'm not what now? I know I didn't hear that right."

"I didn't-" Twisting his fist around the steering wheel until it creaked, Dean tried to figure out if she was serious and he was in trouble. She wasn't the only one the whole 'relationship' thing was new to, "That's not- For fucks sake, I didn't mean-"

"Then what did you mean?"

"He meant your 'professional' phone voice sounds like you work for 1-800-SpankMe." Tapping his phone on his knee, Sam flipped it open and looked at the tiny screen for a second before closing it again and resuming the tapping, "I still can't get through to Amanda Walker."

"Bullshit, it does not."

"Yeah, Tink, it kinda does." Glancing back at Sam in the rearview, he drummed his thumb on the steering wheel, "And she's our only wild card? The flight attendant?"

"Yeah." Raising his phone, he wiggled it in the mirror where Dean could see it, "I've tried her three times, her phone must be off. I talked to her sister Karen, she says it's her first night back on the job and her plane leaves Indianapolis at eight."

"That's a five-hour drive, and that's even with you driving, Andretti," Checking the clunky black piece of plastic on her wrist, she bit her lip, "We're not gonna make it."

"We'll make it."

And people think Dean's not an optimist.

* * *

Okay so maybe sometimes optimism is warranted. With less than an hour to spare, the Impala pulled into a parking spot miraculously near the main terminal. ...which surprises no one. The three of them scrambled out of the car and two of them headed for the entrance before the smart one got their attention.

"Hey guys." The smart one leaned against the car, arms crossed and looked at the idiots, "Forgetting something?"

Dumbass 1 and Dumbass 2 traded a puzzled look before looking back at Sam, not having the faintest idea what he was talking about.

"This is an airport." Waving a hand toward the building, he encompassed the entire property before rolling his eyes toward the sky and shaking his head, "Post 9/11?"

The lightbulbs that went on over Skye and Dean's heads were only 40 watts, but hey, at least they were there.

"Son of a bitch." Heading back to the car, Dean popped the trunk with Skye right behind looking mildly embarrassed that she'd forgotten something so basic. Foot propped on the bumper, Dean removed a knife from his boot, his eyes sliding sideways to watch Skye divest herself of her metric fuckton of weaponry. Watching the two of them find every piece of hardware was like watching a scene out of a cartoon, just when you think they're done, one of them remembers one more thing.

Retrieving her little Sig Sauer from the holster at the small of her back, she set it up near the side of the trunk where she'd be able to find it easily. Lifting the hem of her shirt, she held it in her teeth so she could unbutton her jeans, folding down the top to remove the holster itself. Catching Dean watching her, she threw the holster in near her gun and zipped her jeans up before letting her tank-top fall back into place, "It's nothin' you haven't seen before, Winchester."

"Oh I wasn't watchin' you." Lies. Tossing his own gun in the trunk, he closed it after watching her take her hair down and toss her hair ties in next to her holster, "I was just wonderin' how a pygmy kept two tons of hardware on her with no one the wiser...why your hair ties?"

"Talent, well, that and if certain porn categories are to be believed, bulges and boobs go great together." Twisting hair up into a loose knot that somehow didn't need a hair tie, she shrugged a shoulder, "Replaced the elastic with wire. Still works fine if you do it right and now I have two decent pieces of wire on me that most people won't ever think to look for."

"Smart." Standing with a hand on the top of the car, Sam watched them impatiently, gesturing for them to get a move on, "You guys done?"

"Man." Running his hands over his jacket, Dean made a face as he fell into step a few feet behind the other two, "Now I feel all naked."

Okay, let's call it what it was. 'Made a face' just doesn't cover it. He was pouting. Seriously. The 26-year-old man was pouting. But anyway…,"I wish."

"What was that, Tinkerbell?" Did he hear right or did he need his ears checked? "Sam, what did she just say? 'Cause if it's what I think she said, then I'd be happy to make arrangements."

"Not a clue." Shrugging, Sam feigned ignorance, earning a grin from the little brunette beside him, "Didn't hear a thing."

Hey, he had to earn back some points from telling Dean the condom thing. And it was funny.

Quickening his step, Dean swatted at the girl, "You're fuckin' with me again, aren't you?"

Sidestepping the attempt, she spun around to walk backward, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jean jacket. Raising a brow, a grin spreading across her lips as brown eyes met green, "Am I?"

Checking his watch, Dean cursed and held out a hand to Skye without thinking about it, breaking into a jog as soon as she tucked her hand into his.


	12. Chapter 12

Breathless, the three ran through the entrance, making a beeline for the flight information display. A regular occurrence at airports, the bustle didn't exactly raise any eyebrows. Skimming the screens in front of him, Sam finally found the flight they were looking for, "Right there. They're boarding in half an hour." Enough time to come up with something. Maybe.

"Okay, we still got some cards to play." Running a hand through his hair, Dean's eyes took in the hustle of airline patrons and staff around them, shifting his weight anxiously. Not exactly typical behavior from their fearless leader, "We need to find a phone."

Tugging Dean's hand in the right direction, Skye directed him toward the white courtesy phones while keeping a speculative eye on him, "They're this way."

"How do you know?"

"Probably because she's literate." Clapping a hand on his brother's shoulder, Sam indicated at least three signs visible from where they were that pointed customers in the right direction, "Unlike some people I know."

Tapping her nose with a finger, she confirmed Sam was indeed correct, "Two points to the away team, one more and they get a special bonus round."

"Do you ever think about what you're gonna say before you say it?" Picking up the white handset on the nearest phone, Dean spoke to the operator on the other end, "Hi, Gate 13. I'm trying to contact Amanda Walker, she's a flight attendant on flight umm-"

"Nope, I like to be as surprised as everyone else." Leaning back against the wall next to the phone with one foot propped up, doubtlessly leaving a nice footprint for someone to have to clean later, she held up her fingers. Four. Two. Four.

"Flight 424."

Leaning sideways, Skye watched Sam fidget impatiently behind Dean. This whole thing would have been funny if it wasn't all serious and life or death. Granted, that was true of most of their lives.

"Come on." Growling into the phone, impatient for Amanda to pick up, Dean's expression and tone of voice changed instantly when she did, "Yes, Miss Walker, this is Dr. James Headfield at St. Francis Memorial Hospital. We have a Karen Walker here. Nothing serious, just a minor car accident, but she was injured so-"

" _Wa-wait, that's impossible, I just got off the phone with her."_

"... You what?" Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against the wall next to Skye and tried to salvage the conversation with the flight attendant, "Um well, there must be some mistake."

Fuck. Once, just once, he'd like for a plan to go smoothly on the first try. That would be great.

" _And how would you even know I was here?"_

Impatient to know what was going on, Sam crowded Dean's side, trying to hear what Amanda was saying before Dean smacked his shoulder and waved him back.

" _Is this one of Vince's friends?"_

A woman her age, using that tone of voice…

"Guilty as charged." Dean smiled awkwardly even though Amanda couldn't see it. He'd taken a shot with that one. Chances were Vince was a boyfriend, current or ex, so maybe he could use that to keep her grounded.

" _Wow, this is unbelievable."_

"He's...really sorry." Shrugging a shoulder and giving his partners a 'fuck if I know' look, Dean wasn't about to tell them he'd heard that tone more than once and kind of figured an apologetic route would be the best option. Didn't really want to remind Skyler that technically maybe he sort of could have maybe been considered a womanizer at one point.

" _Well, you tell him to mind his own business and stay out of my life, okay?"_

"Yeah, but, he really needs to see you. Tonight. So-"

" _No, I'm sorry. It's too late."_

Banging his head gently against the wall, Dean kept his tone as level and friendly as he could, "Don't be like that, come on. The guy's a mess. Really. It's pathetic."

Giving Dean an obnoxious smile, it wasn't hard to see Sam thought maybe Dean was talking about himself and not this Vince guy. Sam got flipped off because Dean's not as clueless as he looks. Mostly.

" _Really?"_

"Oh...yeah."

" _Look, I've got to go. Um, tell him to call me when I land."_

What? No no no. "No, no. Wait. Amanda? Amanda!"

Well, that went swimmingly. Slamming down the receiver, Dean smacked his head against the wall one last time for good measure before taking a few steps back and scratching the back of his neck, looking around the airport as if it would provide the miraculous answer to their dilemma. To  _his_  dilemma.

"Fuck." Bouncing on the toes of his boots, Dean stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, because apparently he was taking on Skye's mannerisms, "Damn it. So close."

"Okay, time for plan B. And I don't mean the pregnancy prevention kind, which I'm sure Dean knows all about." Sidling over to Dean, she turned and looked up at him, examining him like a particularly curious specimen under a microscope, "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothin'. And I do not." Yes, he did.

"We got to get on that plane." Heading for the desk, Sam was already digging his wallet out of his pocket when Dean stopped him.

"Now, just-just hold on a second." The apprehension he'd been trying to keep a stranglehold on was quickly turning to full-blown anxiety with maybe a tad bit of overwhelming irrational fear. The man could handle a lot of things. Ghosts. Werewolves. Monsters of all sorts. The occasional bar fight. A willing woman. Could he just once not have to deal something he didn't want to? Just once.

"Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if we're right, it's going to crash." Taking a step toward the other two, Sam lowered his voice and took a quick look around, not wanting to be overheard, "So we're getting on that plane."

"We have to if we wanna find the demon and exorcise it, and I'm not talkin' Richard Simmons at a Weight Watchers meeting." She'd only been half-kidding earlier, half the time she really had no idea what was going to come out until right before it did. To be fair imagining Richard Simmons exorcising something was hilarious. Dance those demons out, baby, chant to the beat.

"Skye, go buy the tickets." Offering his wallet to the girl, he motioned for Dean to come on, "We'll go get whatever we can out of the trunk that'll make it through security and meet you back here in ten minutes."

"Winchester?" Ignoring Sam for a second, Skye focused on Dean, concerned at how ashen his skin had gone. The restlessness and the rapidly developing sheen of fear sweat, also not good signs, "Are you okay?"

Kind of a stupid question, really. The obvious answer was no. No, he was very not okay. The expression on his face cycled quickly through 'yeah, sure, of course' to 'I mean probably' to a clear 'fuck no' in the time it took to sneeze, "No, not really."

Putting a hand on his cheek, Skye turned his head so she could meet his eyes, "What's wrong, Dean?"

"I uh…" Pleasantly surprised at the touch, his train of thought skipped a track for a second, "I just kinda um-just have this problem with-"

"You have a fear of flying?" Disbelief coloring his voice, Sam watched his brother with an incredulous look in his eye, "You're joking."

How could he have a fear of flying? How could Sam have not known he had a fear of flying? There was still that little kid part of him that had a hard time believing his big bad brother could have a fear of anything, that tiny bit of hero worship left over from childhood. But still, how did he not now that?

"It's never really been an issue till now!" Dean clasped Skye's hand in one of his, the other on his hip as he leaned over and tried to slow his breathing, feeling like he was running out of air, "Do I look like I'm joking? Why do you guys think I drive everywhere?"

"Alright, uh-" Okay, then there was really only one solution. Not one he was real thrilled with, but then again, this whole thing sucked, "I'll go. You guys stay here and I'll go take care of it on my own."

Yeah, right, like they were going to let Sammy go up there to deal with this alone? When pigs fly, maybe.

"No way you're going on your own, Sasquatch." Slowly rubbing Dean's back through his three layers of clothing, Skye shook her head at Sam, "Ain't happenin'."

"Look, we can do it all three of us or I can handle it. You two can't separate so those are our options." Glancing at the silver watch on his wrist, Sam cursed and showed them the time, "Either way, we have to go."

So he had a good point. Skye and Dean literally couldn't separate, not able to be more than thirty miles apart before suffering symptoms that would turn from mild to deadly another thirty or forty miles after that, a distance the plane would go in no time at all.

"Come on!" Shifting, Dean tried to figure out what to do with his hands, trying hard not to feel like he was about to vibrate out of his own skin, the closest he'd come to an anxiety attack in a very long time, "Really? ...Fuckkity fuck fuck...Get the tickets."

Buying tickets while the boys ran out to the car, the three of them regrouped and managed to make it through security and to their gate in fifteen minutes flat. In a flurry of hurry up and wait, they got there halfway through boarding, just in the nick of time.


	13. Chapter 13

She'd only been able to get two seats together at the last minute. Luckily it didn't take long for Skye to charm an English gentleman into switching with her so she could sit with the boys. Quicker than she would have thought possible, the three were seated. By unspoken agreement, Sam and Skye flanked Dean, Sam on the aisle and Skye by the window with Dean stressing out between them. White knuckling the armrests, Dean was trying to keep his cool while Sam was trying not to laugh his ass off, and they hadn't even started taxiing down the runway yet. Skye was torn between thinking it was as almost as funny as Sam did and thinking it was possibly the most endearing thing she'd ever seen. Hey, at least she wasn't laughing.

Closing his eyes as the plane started to move, Dean re-checked his seatbelt for the third time, humming something under his breath as he leaned his head back against the seat.

"Are-is that Metallica?" Fighting not to giggle, Sam gave his big bad older brother a long look, "Are you humming Metallica?"

"It calms me down." Not only did Dean not care that Sam was laughing at him, he didn't even seem to notice.

"It's 'Some Kind of Monster'." Leaning past Dean to grin at Sam, Skye shook her head, "It's not even good Metallica."

"It's a good song." Cracking one eye to look at her, Dean's fingers tightened on the armrests before he closed his eyes again, "But I kinda love that you know that."

"No. No, it's not," Shifting to sit sideways in her seat without taking off her seatbelt, Skye leaned her head against the seat and watched Dean with an affectionate smile that would have made him do a double-take if he'd actually been looking, "Pretty much all of St. Anger sucks."

"This coming from the girl that thinks 'Pierce the Veil' qualifies as music." A ghost of a smile touched his pale lips. She not only managed to name the song, but the album the song was from. That was kind of awesome.

Closing his eyes, Sam got that pinched look he gets when he was wishing that his partners were adults and not bickering repressed emotionally stunted adolescents in adult bodies. But you know what they say, if wishes were horses we'd all be eating steak. Or maybe that's just Jayne.

Reaching the end of the runway, the plane shuddered for a second as it tilted, taking to the air. The noise in the cabin grew louder as they started to climb, causing Dean to grow paler, which Skye didn't think was eve possible without massive blood loss. Resting a hand on his, she smiled when he managed to pry his fingers off the armrest long enough to tangle his fingers with hers. Ignoring the seatbelt sign, she unbuckled hers and pulled her legs up under her, positioning herself so she was leaning against Dean's arm with her lips close to his ear.

Sitting back in his chair, Sam tried not to shove his knees into the back of the spot in front of him, difficult when these seating accommodations were in no way accommodating to anyone over 5'10". And that was being generous. Also, really damn hard to give anyone any privacy when they're six inches away. ...of course at this point, everyone was kind of used to it. Intently studying the little knobs and lights in the armrest on the other side of him, Sam tried his best to ignore the two next to him in what he would have considered an intimate moment if they weren't in a doomed airplane surrounded by 105 other potential mangled bodies. Well, whatever she was doing was helping.

Slowly Dean relaxed, letting go of Sam's armrest, he folded his hand around the one Skye held against his ear. Leaning over with his eyes still closed, he rested his forehead against hers. Any closer and they'd be able to get their Mile High Club cards laminated when they touched down. Taking a deep breath as his heartbeat stopped hammering painfully against his ribs, Dean finally felt like he was starting to get enough air. He didn't even notice when the landing gear retracted, only starting to take note of his surroundings when the plane started to level out.

This was sweet and all, but they had about half an hour to stop a whole plane full of people from dying in a pile of smoking, twisted rubble. Clearing his throat loudly to get their attention, Sam brought them firmly back to the rather pressing matter of their impending deaths, "You guys good.?"

"Yeah." Without taking his eyes away from hers, Dean answered his brother before leaning in to whisper a thank you in Skye's ear, lips grazing her cheek before he sat back and turned to his brother with a perplexing smile quirking one side of his mouth, "We're good."

Well, you get one heart rate down and another takes off. Figures. Standing as soon as the seatbelt light went off, Skye managed not to blush. Unless you count the tips of her ears, but we're not going to mention that because it's embarrassing.

Unpacking himself from his seat, Sam got out to let her past. Dean wasn't so polite. Moving his legs just enough for her to sidle by, he smiled sweetly up at her, exuding all innocent charm.

"Quit lookin' at my ass, Winchester."

Not going to happen. "Didn't even know you had one."

Filthy lies.

"Gonna have to change your name to Pinocchio." Not the best comparison there.

"Not my nose that's growing."...and that would be why. Walked right into that one. Nice.

Yeah, she didn't have a comeback for that, escaping down the aisle to the bathroom before his smart mouth could come up with something else to say.

"Dude." Watching her walk away as long as he could, Dean got smacked when he leaned too far into Sam's space, smacking him back as he sat up straight, "I am so royally fucked."

"What? What are you talking about?" Eyeing his brother, Sam took note of that same peculiar little smile he had a minute ago, "Are you okay, man?"

"...yeah, I'm good. It's nothin', nevermind."

"What was she saying to you, anyway?" He had to admit, he was pretty damn curious. She'd calmed Dean down somehow or other and now he looked a little like he'd been smacked in the head with a 2x4, "Dean?"

"Hmm? Oh." Leaning back in his seat, he shrugged a shoulder, "She uh-she didn't say anything. She was singing. Aren't we supposed to be focusing on coming up with a plan or somethin'?"

"Find the demon. Exorcise it. What was she singing?"

The girl sang all the time, always had some kind of music going, whether out loud or just in her own head. She had a nice enough voice, but no one was going to confuse her with Stevie Nicks.

"Hey Jude. Man, can we move on from this?" Not like they didn't have more important things to think about right now.

"The song Mom used to sing?" Okay, starting to get the picture. Sam nodded slowly, twisting his lips before giving his brother a level look, "Dude...you need so much therapy."

"Oh shut up."

Hell, Dean barely remembered mentioning it to her in passing their third day out from Louisiana on the road to Palo Alto. She really did remember everything. Man, was that going to make life interesting down the road. He'd wouldn't be able to get away with shit. Fuck. Rubbing his temple, Dean shook his head, dragging his obstinate thoughts back to the present. There wouldn't  _be_ a 'down the road' if they didn't get their collective asses in gear on this job, "Let's figure out who's possessed and get this show on the road."

* * *

"Okay folks." Returning from her brief stint twenty feet away, the boys stood enough to let her pass so she could reclaim her spot, "We figure it all out and save the day yet?"

"You're right on time, Bite-Size." Leaning forward so he could see both of them, Sam got to the crux of the matter, "Now, who's it possessing?"

"Well, it's usually gotta be someone with a weakness, a chink in the armor a demon can worm through." Slouching in his seat a little so everyone could see everyone else a little better, Dean gave the criteria for their potential Linda Blair, "Like somebody with an addiction or emotional distress."

"...so..we're all good right?" Gesturing to encompass the three of them, Skye felt the need to point out their own weaknesses in that regard, "'Cause I'm pretty sure there's not a one of us whose mental armor isn't more hole than metal. Like, the swiss cheese of psychological protections."

"So...chainmail?"

"Shut up."

"Children?" Giving the both of them a stern look, Sam wrangled them back again. Jesus, they were all going to die at this rate, "I was thinking Amanda, it's her first flight back."

"If I were her, I'd be pretty messed up." Nodding her agreement, Skye half stood to glance around the compartment to try to spot the flight attendant before sitting back down, "I mean, more so than usual."

"Excuse me." Catching the attention of a blonde attendant as she walked by, Sam smiled up at her, "Are you Amanda?"

"No, I'm not." Smiling, the attendant didn't give them more than a second look before continuing on her way, not bothering to wonder what he could want with her coworker.

"I'll go talk to her and get a read on her mental state." Unbuckling his seatbelt, Dean stood, taking a deep breath as he got his feet under him. Hopefully he'd be able to maintain his own mental state. Not the funnest job ever.

"What if she's already possessed?"

"There's ways to test that." Pulling out a flattened water bottle, Dean held it up and shook the clear liquid inside, "I brought Holy Water."

"No." Stealing the bottle, Sam tucked it into his hoodie, "I think we can go more subtle."

"Oh, I know this one." Bouncing in her seat, Skye grinned, happy to be able to chime in with some knowledge she gained way before she met the boys. Yay Catholic School and Sunday mass? No. Still not worth it, "If she's possessed, she'll flinch at the name a God."

"Huh." Gesturing for Sam to move his ass, Dean stepped out into the aisle, "Nice.

Hissing at his brother, Sam got his attention, "Dean."

Turning around before he'd had a chance to go more than a step, Dean looked back at Sam, "What?"

"Say it in Latin."

Another step down the aisle before Sam hissed at him again, "Hey!"

"What!"

"In Latin, it's Cristo."

"Dude, I know, I'm not an idiot!"

A statement Sam found debatable at the best of times.

* * *

Moving into Dean's seat as he walked away, Skye leaned her head back and closed her eyes for a second.

"Hey, Skye?"

Opening her eyes, she smiled at Sam, raising a brow questioningly, "Yeah, Sasquatch?"

"What you did?" Jerking his head in the direction Dean had gone, Sam made his meaning clear, "That was really sweet."

"Don't mention it. Like, seriously. Ever. Can't have people thinkin' I'm a nice person or anything," Grinning at him, she reached behind her to re-secure her hair, foot tapping as she glanced over her shoulder toward the prep area where Dean was talking to a stewardess before looking back at Sam with a more sincere smile, "I mean, come on, Sammy. He does the same for me on a regular basis. The man's even more sleep deprived than usual 'cause a me."

"And here we were thinking you didn't know about that." Chuckling, Sam couldn't say he was really surprised. It was a little bit of a reach to think she really slept through it when she was such a light sleeper otherwise.

"...of course I do, you dope. Just, don't tell Dean, okay?" Ducking her head, she gave a self-deprecating chuckle, "It helps a lot and I-I kinda like just layin' there listenin' to him ramble about whatever pops into his head. You know, he's kind of a really sweet guy when he thinks nobody's payin' attention."

"You know, I know a girl kind of like that." Elbowing her in the arm, Sam smirked at her, "Prickly on the outside and kind of soft in the middle."

"Shut up, no you don't."


	14. Chapter 14

Heading down the aisle toward the back of the plane, Dean had to grip the back of a seat and close his eyes as they hit a small patch of turbulence. Taking a deep breath as it steadied, he forced himself to let go and keep going. Man, there were about a hundred places he'd rather be right now. At least the anxiety was at a more manageable level now. Not gone, by any means, but not debilitating. Was easier when you had a solid purpose in mind. Not like saving a hundred people and themselves wasn't a pretty fucking solid purpose, but this one was a little more personal.

If they went down now, he'd never get to see where things went with Skyler and that was just unacceptable. ...and he was pretty sure she wasn't just fucking with him. Moving aside the curtain that separated the passenger cabin from the bathrooms and galley, he came face-to-face with a smiling blonde flight attendant that had to be Amanda. A pretty young woman with a friendly smile and a decidedly unflattering red and pink uniform.

"Hello." Greeting Dean as he stepped away from the curtain, she gave him the barest appreciative look before turning completely professional, "Can I help you with something?"

"Oh...nah, just a bit of an uneasy flier." Hands in his pockets, he stretched up onto his toes before rocking back onto his heels, "Makes me feel better to walk around a bit."

Yeah, no it didn't. He'd definitely rather be sitting with a secured seatbelt and an unsecured smartass. Nodding like she heard that a few times a day at least, she didn't pause while arranging the drinks on the cart and stacking clear plastic cups, "Oh, it happens to the best of us."

"Of course, you bein' a stewardess, I guess flying comes easy to you."

"Eh." A nervous laugh escaped her when she looked up at him, "You'd be surprised."

"Really?" No, he really wouldn't. Of course she was a nervous flier, she'd just survived an air disaster that made national news, "You're a nervous flier?"

"Yeah, maybe a little bit."

"Now, how is it that bein' a stewardess, you're scared to fly?" What is still 'stewardess'? Was it supposed to be 'flight attendant' or some other such PC bullshit? Fuck if he knew. Or cared. It's weird what you think about when you know you're likely going to be hurtling toward your death in twenty minutes.

"Kind of a long story."

"Right, sorry for asking."

No, he wasn't. Maybe he should feel a little bad about having to bring up painful topics, but he just couldn't bring himself to care right this second.

"It's okay."

"You ever consider other employment?" And if so, why didn't you do it, like, yesterday.

"No, not really." Resting her hands on the cart, she stopped what she was doing to really look at him and give an answer that wasn't a pat customer service response, "Look, everybody's scared of something. I just uh-I'm not gonna let it hold me back."

Ever wonder what it'd be like to have that kind of mental stability? Yeah, him too.

"Huh…" Looking down, he closed his eyes and shook his head for a second before muttering in an almost inaudible voice, "...Cristo."

"I'm sorry," Frowning, she tried to figure out what he'd said.

"...Cristo?"

Yeah, he was coming off as creepy. Man, he did so love when that happened. Especially when it was with an attractive woman. Not that he had any intention of pursuing anything...still sucked though.

"I-I didn't…"

"Eh, nothing, nevermind." Backing out of the compartment, he gave her an awkward smile before turning around to go inform the others he'd struck out. No way that woman was the one they were looking for. Looking only moderately nauseous at the sway of the deck under his feet, he looked down at the black plastic on his wrist. Fuck. If time kept on slippin' slippin' slippin' into the future at this rate, they'd run out of it.

* * *

Crouching in the aisle next to Sam's seat, he didn't bother making Sam or Skye move so he could sit back down. There was no point. Ignoring looks from other passengers, figuring if they were going to find and exorcise a freaking demon for these ungrateful bitches, everyone else could damn well just step around him, "Okay, so she's gotta be, like, the most well-adjusted person on the planet."

"You said Cristo?" Keeping his voice down, Sam did his best not to be overheard by any of the passengers around him, nobody needed to hear their freaky conversation. Well, it was normal for them. Bizarre as hell for anyone else.

"There's no demon in her, there's no demon getting in her."

"So if it's on the plane…" Leaning forward to see past Sam, Skye wiped off the little smile on her lips that kept coming back when she looked at Dean. Like an annoying rash. Or unwanted in-laws. It was unsettling.

"It could be anyone, anywhere." Leaning back, Sam rubbed his eyes. Wonderful.

"You know, this is really puttin' a kink in my plans for the day. I totally forgot to pencil in 'die in a fiery cataclysm'."

As if the Universe had great comedic timing, which come on a lot of the time it kind of does, the plane hit a patch of turbulence as soon as the words left her mouth, knocking Dean off his feet.

"Oh, come on!" Clutching the armrest to keep from falling over, Dean closed his eyes and swallowed hard, "That can't be normal!"

Smiling, the corners of her cinnamon-brown eyes crinkling with purely internal laughter, Skye looked past Sam and caught Dean's gaze as soon as he opened his eyes again, "Take a breath, baby, it's just a little turbulence."

"...did you just call me baby?"

When he really stopped to think about it, today really wasn't turning out to be the worst day ever. In fact, if they lived, it might turn out to be a pretty good one.

"Psh, what? No." Raise your hand if you believe that. No one? Really?

Pointing at her, Dean narrowed his eyes, accusing her of fucking with him again without having to say a word.

"I think I found an exorcism that'll work." Ignoring them, Sam pulled out John's journal from the carry-on he'd stashed under his seat before take-off. Opening the front cover, he flipped a few pages until he found the one he wanted, "It's called the Ritual Romano."

"Like the cheese?" Okay, so maybe she was hungry.

"Yes, like the cheese." Sitting back on his heels, Dean leaned in to get a look at the page Sam had open, "What do we do?"

They should really start planning this kind of thing out  _before_  they were in the middle of it. Just a thought.

"Well, it's in two parts." Running a finger down the first part of the incantation, he translated, "The first part expels the demon from the victim's body and makes it manifest, which actually makes it more powerful."

"More powerful?" Dean kind of hoped he misheard. No such luck.

"How?" Trying to get a look over Sam's arm at the journal wasn't doing much good, not that Skye could read Latin anyway. Yet. She made a mental note to fix that as soon as possible.

"It doesn't need to possess someone anymore." Marking his place with his finger, Sam looked up into two equally apprehensive faces, "It can just wreak havoc on its own."

"Oh." Why Sam made that sound like a good thing was beyond Dean's comprehension, "Why is that something we want?"

"Well." Closing the book, Sam stuffed it inside his jacket, "Because the second part sends the bastard back to Hell once and for all."

"Well, first things first." As opposed to first things second? Reaching into the carry-on bag set between Sam's feet, Dean pulled out the EMF, which conveniently looked like a battered Walkman, "We gotta find it."

"Let me?" Holding out her hand, Skye started to stand, "It'll look less creepy if I do it."

Using the armrest to help him up, Dean got to his feet and looked down at her, "How will it look less creepy if you do it?"

"Cheerleader Barbie," Raising her arm, she pointed at herself before her wrist swiveled, finger pointing at Dean, "OverAnxious Man, ranked only slightly above Aquaman for lamest superpowers ever. Nobody's gonna look twice at me stretchin' my legs and listenin' to some music...everybody's already glaring at you for blocking the aisle."

Okay, not a bad point actually. "She's not wrong, Dean."

"If you ask her, she never is." Stepping back, Dean handed her the Walkman as she joined him, giving her a thirty-second lesson on how to work the thing. It wasn't exactly astrophysics.

Putting in the earbuds and clicking on the little device, she gave Dean a quick smile before turning around and making her way down the aisle, stepping to the beat of the song that was only playing in her head. "... _bye bye Miss American Pie, drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry…"_

"That's kinda twisted." Chuckling, Dean flapped his hands at Sam to get him to move over so he could sit down, "Move your ass, Sam."

"I am, hold on." Shifting over into Dean's former seat, Sam raised a brow at his brother, "What's kind of twisted?"

"She's singin' 'American Pie'."

"Okay, yeah." Leaning back in his seat, Sam stretched his legs out sideways into Skye's empty leg space, "Your girlfriend is for sure a little bent."

"My-" Closing his mouth, Dean looked thoughtful for a second before nodding agreement, "Yeah, she really kinda is."

Whether he was agreeing that she was bent or agreeing that she was his girlfriend wasn't quite clear.

* * *

'Dancing' down the aisle, Skye sang to herself just loud enough to be heard, unobtrusively scanning every row of passengers she passed. She got a few smiles from people that weren't assholes, a few frowns from people that were, and a fist-bump from a tattooed punk with enough piercings to set off every metal detector in a three-mile radius. Rock on, Metal Punk, rock on.

Getting to the end of the aisle, she took one earbud out and double-checked the homemade thingamajig in her hands before looking at her watch. Beautiful. Fifteen minutes before nosedives, explosions and grisly death. Worst-case scenario, that was probably enough time to not die a virgin and she just happened to know a guy who'd be happy to oblige.

About to turn back to tell the boys she hadn't found shit, the meter started spiking, LED's blinking and the whir in her ear growing in volume as it pitched a fit. Looking up at the lavatory door next to the cockpit, she watched a man in a pilot's uniform walk out. The co-pilot. Holy shit. Wait, no. Unholy shit. Murmuring under her breath, just loud enough to carry to his ears, "Cristo."

Flinching hard, the co-pilot slowly turned his head to look at her, his eyes going coal black and bottomless, an angry grimace on his features. Its features. Oh, fuckin fuckkity fuck.

A thrill of terror shot up her spine as she stiffened, scared for the first time since they'd boarded. Sure, she'd known they could die, in the same way she knew they could always die on a job, but that was in an abstract kind of way and not a 'Jesus-Christ-there's-an-actual-fucking-  _demon_ -standing-ten-feet-away' kind of way. Stumbling back a step, she watched the co-pilot disappear back into the cockpit before turning her happy ass around and hurrying back to the boys. Crouching next to Dean's seat, she tried to look less rattled than she really was, "Found him."

"You sure?" Holding up a hand in self-defense, Sam leaned back as Dean and Skye both gave him a 'dude, really' look at the same time, "Okay, stupid question."

Taking the EMF off of her and shoving it back in the bag, Dean absently reached over to move a strand of hair out of her eyes, "Who is it?"

"Co-pilot."

"...oh fuck me."

Okay. "Sorry, don't have the time."

Dammit.

"We need to get him out of that cockpit." Pointing out the obvious, Sam slid over to the edge of his seat and watched them both, "Ideas?"

"Amanda." Twirling a strand of hair around her finger, the same one Dean had moved out of her eyes no doubt, she leaned back in the aisle and looked back at the galley, "She was on 2485, we've got a shot at convincing her, she can get in the cockpit."

"That's as good a plan as we're going to get, I think." Standing, Sam waited while Dean moved into the aisle before following behind him, "Not a bad idea, Skye."

"Thanks."

* * *

Brushing past the curtain, the three of them piled into the galley, Amanda looking up with a smile when they entered, "Flight's not too bumpy for you, I hope."

"Actually." Stuffing her hands in her jacket pockets, Skye smiled, trying for harmless and friendly. Not hard when you're two feet tall and sound like you should be sitting around a bonfire with a beer in hand listening to your cousin/brother Bubba play 'Amazing Grace' on his guitar, "That's kinda what we need to talk to you about."

Well, really, the bonfire and the beer part sound kind of nice. Can skip the inbred relatives though.

Amanda's friendly smile turned nervous as Sam reached behind them and closed the curtain, "Um, okay. What can I do for you?"

"Alright, this is gonna sound nuts." At least Dean was aware that this was psychotic, honestly, sometimes it could be hard to tell, "We just don't have time for the whole 'the truth is out there' speech right now-."

"Look." Grabbing Dean's shoulder, Sam interrupted what had started to sound like the exact speech that they didn't have time for. They didn't have time to beat around the bush on this one, "We know you were on flight 2485."

Imagine having a 6'5" behemoth, his 6'2" brawler of a brother and a tiny little pixie tell you they've been stalking you, how surreal would that be? Oh, and terrifying.

"Who are you people?" Taking a step back, fear blossomed on Amanda's face, professionalism forgotten.

"Friends." Significantly less threatening than the boys, Skye took a step forward and managed a smile, coming off considerably less anxious than she really was. If it weren't for the young men behind her, she'd never have had the nerve to do any of this shit, "We've spoken to the other survivors and we know that plane didn't come down because of mechanical failure or pilot error."

"We need your help to stop it from happening again." Moving closer to Skye, Dean put a hand on her shoulder, his suspicions about how she was really feeling confirmed by the tension under his hand. She was wound tighter than a clock spring. He made a mental note to let her know how well she was doing at the first opportunity, "Here. Now."

"I'm sorry." Trying to push past them, Amanda had clearly decided they were nuts and she needed to go before they killed her and had her dead body taxidermied into a kitchen stool, "I-I'm very busy."

"We're not gonna hurt you, okay?" That would have been a teeny bit more reassuring if Dean hadn't moved to block the doorway while he spoke, "Listen to me, the pilot from 2485? Chuck Lambert? He's dead."

"What?" Fear turned to disbelief, from there it was only a quick hop to the beginnings of grief. Seemed Amanda had been on good terms with Lambert, "Chuck's dead?"

"There was somethin' wrong with 2485. Now, maybe you sensed it and maybe you didn't, but there's somethin' jacked with this flight too." The earnest look on Skye's face momentarily replaced with a grin, "Now you see tall, dark and pretty behind me? He's takin' me to dinner later. If we die today, it would really throw a monkey wrench in those plans."

"I am?"

"Yes. 'Course, it's  _not_  a date. We're not  _dating_. It's just...dinner."

"Of course not." Yeah, right. Okay, "Do I still have to wear a suit?"

"Focus!" Managing to smack them both on the arm in a single movement, Sam turned to the poor confused flight attendant, "Amanda, you have to believe us….Wait, you said you'd wear a suit?"

"Focus, Sam." Not looking at his brother, Dean conveniently forgot that he was the one side-tracked three seconds ago, "Doin' a job here."

Rubbing her forehead, Amanda could feel a stress headache coming on. They couldn't be serious, could they? But…," On 2485, there was this man. He-he uh, he had these eyes."

"Yes." More than anything else, if she hadn't been convinced before, the relief in Sam's voice would have changed her mind, "That's exactly what we're talking about, Amanda."

"Well, I don't understand, what are you asking me to do?"

"Get the co-pilot." Checking his watch, Dean's tone grew urgent, "We need you to bring him back here."

"Why? What does Randy have to do with anything?"

"Don't really have the time to explain." Chewing on her lower lip, Skye checked her own watch, "We just really need to talk to him, okay?"

If by 'talk' she meant 'forcefully remove a demon using a weird Latin invocation that may or may not work' then she was telling the God's-honest truth. That counts as talking, right?

"Well, how am I supposed to get into the cockpit and get the co-pilot-"

Oh come on, Amanda, geez.

"Tell him somethin's broken. Offer him a blowjob. Tell him he just won the fuckin' Brazilian lottery." Putting a hand on Amanda's shoulder, Skye steered her gently toward the door, getting a little tired of the delay, "I don't know, I don't care, I'm sure you'll figure somethin' out."

"Do you know that I could lose my job if-"

"Everyone on this plane will lose a lot more than that if you don't help us out." Stepping aside, Dean pulled Skye back with him as the three of them watched Amanda intently. Dozens of lives depended on this woman to make up her damn mind.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Amanda headed through the curtain, "...okay."

* * *

Tossing Skye the bottle of Holy Water and the duct tape, Sam took up station on one side of the door, opening up John's journal to the right page. Drawing Skye behind him on the other side of the door, Dean glanced behind him and half-smiled, "A blowjob and the lottery?"

"Would it work on you?"

"...yeah, probably." Okay, so she had a point, "I uh-I just wanted to-...You're doin' good, kid."

"If I'm a kid, you're gonna end up on a list somewhere." Laying a hand on his arm, she peered around him at the door before looking up at him, her warm brown eyes turning to melted chocolate, "...you really think so?"

Not like his opinion of her meant anything. Ha.

"Yeah, I really think so...you really think I'm pretty?"

"Guys." Sam hissed at them from across the way, "They're coming."

Pushing Skye further behind him, Dean took a deep breath, knowing the others were likely doing the same. Showtime.

In retrospect, they probably should have discussed everything in just a tiny bit more detail than 'get demon, say words, exorcise demon' but hey, too late now. Between one breath and the next, the stillness of the tiny prep area erupted into chaos. Stepping through the curtain, the demon in the Randy meatsuit didn't have enough time to register what was happening before he was on the floor.

Let's take a second to appreciate how much physical force it takes to drop a demon in one, even if it is a sucker-punch. These are not creatures known for their physical weakness. Now when it happens to be your boyfriend taking the thing down, it just kind of adds an entirely new level of 'holy shit' to the entire situation. Not that he was her boyfriend. But holy shit.

Dropping to a knee beside the dazed demon, Dean grabbed a double-handful of the co-pilots uniform it wore and slammed it back into the deck, stunning the thing long enough for him to grab its arms. Stepping around Dean, Skye ripped off a piece of duct tape and stuck it firmly over the monster's mouth.

"What are you doing?" Backing up against the wall, Amanda's eyes went wide at the unexpected outburst of violence, "I thought you were just going to talk to him?"

"Oh, we are." Speaking through clenched teeth, Dean managed to hold the thing still enough for Skye to get tape around its wrists. Ripping it off with her teeth, Skye finished and jumped back out of the way as the man formerly known as Randy bucked hard, trying to wrestle itself out of Dean's grasp.

"Just in Latin, using big, scary words." Scrambling to her feet, Skye uncapped the bottle of water she'd managed to hold on to and splashed it onto the demon squirming and growling under Dean's hands.

The sizzle of the man's skin and the smell of singed flesh commingled with Sam starting the ritual, "Regna Terrae, cantate deo, psallite domino, qui vehitur per calus caelos antiquos!"

"Oh my God." Sliding further down the wall, Amanda got as far away as she could manage in the cramped space, "What's wrong with him?"

"Amanda." Interposing herself between the horror movie scene behind her and the terrified young woman, Skye took a deep breath and got ahold of the terror balled up in her stomach. Smiling at the young woman, you'd never know she was shaking like a palsied chihuahua on the inside. Taking the stewardesses hands in her own, Skye looked up into the taller woman's blue eyes, "Look at me. Everything is going to be fine but I need you to do me a favor, okay? I need you to calm down."

Focusing on calming the woman down, Skye tried to intentionally make the 'Mom' thing happen that the boys claimed they'd noticed on at least four occasions. She still didn't quite know what they meant, but she was damned-well paying attention to it this time. Whatever she was doing worked. Settling, Amanda's breathing started to slow, no longer bordering on hyperventilating.

"Okay, good." Reaching out and gripped the woman's arm, Skye gently urged the woman toward the curtain, "Now, we need you on the other side of that curtain. If someone comes in here, they could get hurt, so I need you to keep people out. Think you can do that for me?"

Coming from anyone else, there's no doubt that would have sounded insultingly patronizing but somehow Skye managed to make it seem affectionate. No condescension, just a mother talking to a child. Which is fucking weird when the 'mother' is nineteen and the 'child' is like mid-twenties.

"I can do that." A tremulous smile on her lips, Amanda hesitated just a second longer before moving toward the curtain of her own free will.

"Of course you can, not hard at all." Ushering her out, Skye made sure the curtain was closed before rushing back to take up her spot by the boys, dumping more Holy Water on the increasingly furious demon.

* * *

"Sam, hurry up." Losing his grip on its arms, Dean felt his control of the creature slipping. Cursing, he snapped at his brother, "I don't know how much longer I can hold him."

The fact that he'd been able to this long was damned impressive, but still, he just had to go and fucking jinx it, didn't he. No sooner said than the demon had broken free. Throwing Dean off of him, it ripped the duct tape off its mouth and jumped to its feet. With a tearing sound, it tore the tape around its wrists and threw its arms wide. One hand knocked the Holy Water out of Skye's hand, knocking her off her feet. The other backhanded Dean into the wall behind him.

"I know what happened to your girlfriend." Head snapping around, it zeroed in on Sam as the more pressing threat. Its voice was grating, rough and deeper than any human vocal cord could produce, "She must have died screaming. Even now, she's burning!"

Hesitating, Sam blanched at its words, losing his place as images of Jess wrapped in flames flooded his mind for a second, destroying the focus he'd managed up to now. Regaining his feet, Dean threw a great right that would have introduced a normal person to the floor. But we don't do 'normal' here.

Rounding on him, the demon kicked a loafered foot into Dean's stomach, knocking the air out of him and sending him gasping to his knees. Who the fuck wears loafers these days? Dismissing the temporarily down-but-certainly-not-out man at its feet in its eagerness to get to Skye, the demon proved that they're not any smarter than your average human.

Word of advice here, don't turn your back on a Winchester.  _Any_  Winchester.

" _You,_  I thought I smelled you." It advanced on Skye, pointing a finger at her. Backing her against the wall, it closed a vice-like hand around her throat and slowly started to squeeze. Pressing her harder against the wall, the demon raised its arm, lifting Skye's feet off the floor and cutting off her air, "I'll be the talk of the town when word gets out I killed  _you."_

Because that's a normal reaction to get from a fucking  _demon_. Not at all alarming. Well, it would have been alarming if she was trying to not die. At the moment, kind of secondary in importance. Digging her nails into its skin, Skye tried to pry its fingers away as she fought to take a breath. Even a trickle of oxygen would be great, thanks.

Struggling to his feet, Dean forgot all about the need to get his diaphragm working again, his vision tunneling until all he saw was Skye struggling to breathe. In that instant, his entire reason for existence narrowed to the simple need to get that thing away from her.

Ever experienced the purely animal part of your brain take over completely? Yeah, it's a little unsettling the first couple of times. Lowering his shoulder, he hit the thing low on its hip, taking its legs out from under it and slamming it into the wall behind it, "Sam! Finish it!"

Her support abruptly removed, Skye hit the deck, knees hitting the floor with bruising force as Sam's voice resumed. Sucking in a desperate lungful of air, she choked on the pain in her throat, sending her into a coughing fit that made it next to impossible to get on her feet.

As Sam finished the first part of the ritual, everything went quiet, the co-pilots neck snapping back. With a roar, the thing possessing the poor guy poured out of his mouth, the thick black smoke rolling out in a cloud of oily darkness before it disappeared into an air duct. Randy's body dropped to the floor, unconscious. Probably for the best.

For just a moment, everything went blessedly still...but of course good things don't last. With a bone-jarring jolt, the entire plane bucked wildly, throwing everyone off their feet before it turned into a steep nosedive.

The floor dropping out from under his feet sent Sam to the ground, John's journal knocked out of his hands. Cursing, he scrambled onto his hands and knees, trying to locate it and finish this before they all became bloody smears on the evening news.

Oxygen masks dropped as the other passengers finally caught up to the fact of their imminent demise, the screaming and whine of the engines just adding to the general chaos as random debris flew through the air around them. These situations aren't nearly as much fun as they look on TV. Grabbing Skye around the waist, Dean pulled her back against him and twisted around to tuck her between him and the wall, shielding her as well as he could with his own body.

Finally locating the damn journal wedged under a passengers seat halfway down the aisle, Sam pulled himself along the floor of the cabin, banging painfully into the metal struts that welded the seats firmly in place. This job didn't pay nearly well enough for this shit. Seriously, they should at least get dental.

Straining, he managed to get his fingers on the leather cover, dragging it toward him inch by slow inch. Finally getting a grip on it, he rolled onto his back, bracing himself between two seats and flinging the damn thing open to find the right page. Where was it? Dammit, this was taking forever. Exactly how long does it take to plummet thirty-thousand feet? There! Fucking finally.

"Timendus est dues e sancto, dues Israel; ipse potentiam datet robur populo suo benedictus dues. Gloria Patri!"

The effect was instantaneous, the whine of the engine quieting as the pilot quickly wrestled the airliner back to level, the potentially deadly debris falling to the ground. Closing his eyes and breathing hard, Sam let himself fall backward, laying in the cluttered aisle. Definitely dental. Maybe vision, too. Life insurance was probably a little much to ask for though.

* * *

Opening his eyes, Dean took a deep breath, the aftereffects of the adrenaline that had shot through his system earlier leaving him a little shaky as he offered the girl curled up under him a hand up, "You okay?"

Looking up as everything stabilized and went quiet, Skye took the offered hand and got to her feet, taking a quick glance around to double-check that the threat to life and limb was over. Putting a hand to her bruised throat, she swallowed before answering, voice a little scratchy but serviceable, "I'm okay. How 'bout you, Batman?"

"Oh, I'm great." Giving her a once over to make sure she was really was alright, he tilted her head back to have a look at her neck, "That's gonna be some awful pretty colors in the mornin'."

"Yeah, well, not the first time." Swatting his hands away, she gave him the same treatment but aside from a scrape or two and some bruises she couldn't see, he was fine. Relief flooded through her and she surprised them both when she stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, her voice muffled against his jacket, "You know, you don't quit savin' my ass, I'm gonna start thinkin' you care."

"Oh God forbid, can't have that." Slipping his arms around her without hesitation, he held her tightly against him, taking a second to have a purely internal mini-freakout at his first solid realization of how freaking tiny she was. Sure, he'd known she was small. Wasn't exactly a state secret, but until he'd finally gotten his arms around her for the first time, he didn't quite grasp  _how_  small. That could make things...interesting...at some point in the future.

Taking a deep breath, Skye leaned back, forcing him to reluctantly loosen his hold, "We should check on Sammy."

"Sammy's fine." Amused, Sam's voice came from the doorway leading into the passenger cabin, where he'd been leaning watching the two of them for the last minute or so, "Thanks for asking. It's nice to know you care, Midget. Your boyfriend obviously doesn't."

"Not my boyfriend." More an automatic denial than real conviction but that's not the point.

"Sure I'm not." Sliding down the wall behind them, Dean leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him, tugging Skye down next to him, "And  _that_  wasn't a demon. Also, we're not in a plane, we're not sitting here, I'm not wearing flannel and oh look-"

"Oh fuck  _off_ , Winchester."


	15. Chapter 15

Upon landing back in Indianapolis, all the passengers and staff involved in the incident were rounded up and given any needed medical attention. Well, all but three who somehow managed to slip out of the crowd and disappear without being noticed.

"Guys." Slowing to a stop halfway through the terminal, Sam stopped them, a worried look on his handsome face and pain lurking in his hazel eyes. Jess' death was still raw, as if it had just happened a few hours ago, and anything that brought it up was guaranteed to get his full attention, "That thing. It-it knew about Jessica."

"Sam." Briefly gripping his brother's shoulder, Dean tried his hand at a little reassurance. Difficult when he was so rarely sure of anything himself, "These things, they read minds."

"And they lie." Smiling up at Sam, Skye managed to hide her own misgivings. She hadn't forgotten the demon's reaction to her and what it had said. It  _knew_  her, she'd swear on it, but then she'd also swear she'd never met a demon in her life, and she certainly wasn't anyone of any consequence. Still, something best kept to herself until she had some kind of answer, "That's all it was."

"...yeah." Looking less than convinced, Sam let himself be ushered to the exit without protest, "You're probably right."

"Of course we are. Now, anyone else needs a drink?"

* * *

By mutual agreement, they stopped off at a bar in the little town of Knightstown about half an hour out of Indianapolis. They probably should have gone to get some sleep, but fuck it, they deserved a drink. The familiar smells of cheap cigarettes and stale beer rolled out to greet them as Skye held the door for the boys, the click of billiard balls and strains of classic rock escaped before they let the door fall closed behind them. The place was a dive, not unlike thousands of other dive bars scattered around in every small town in the country. Pale paint that may have once been white peeling off faux-wood panels, pool table near the entrance, a rundown formica counter running along one side with a jukebox and a few small tables scattered throughout.

"Either of you got any singles?" Claiming the unoccupied table in the far corner, Skye tugged off her jean jacket and threw it over the back of her chair, "I wanna hit the jukebox."

"Of course you do." Digging into his wallet, Sam fished out a few dollar bills and held them up for her, "Just no Backstreet Boys. I already lived through one horrifying thing today, I'd rather not make it two."

"Seconded." Taking off his own leather jacket, Dean tossed it on the chair next to hers, "Beer?"

"Ouch, Stretch, really know how to hit a girl where it hurts." Snagging the bills out of his hand, she gave his shoulder a quick squeeze in thanks before answering Dean, "Yes, please, and a shot of something strong enough to take the nicotine off the walls."

Raising a hand, Sam raised two fingers, "Make that two of both."

Returning before Dean got back, Skye dropped into the sturdy wooden chair as the first of the two songs she chose clicked on, the dulcet tones of .38 Special not at all out of place in this hole in the wall.

"... _somebody like you, I'm tellin' you, somebody like you could break my heart…"_

"Oh you have got to be kidding." Slouching down in his chair, Sam rolled his eyes hard enough to make them creak, "You're talking in song again?"

"I don't know what you're talkin' about." Again? Like she'd ever stopped. Sitting up straight, she stretched before crossing her arms on the table, smirking at Sam, "Also, bite my shiny white ass."

"I like .38 special." Placing three shots in the middle of the table, Dean cracked open two of the bottles in his hand and put one in front of Skye before he sat down, pointing at her with the neck of his bottle, "And no, I already called dibs."

"You can't call dibs on my ass, Winchester." Making a face, she took the shot in front of her before taking a long drink of her beer to wash the taste out. Yeah, there was no doubt in her mind that could definitely have taken the nicotine off the walls, "Pool tables free. Anybody wanna play?"

"Not me, I think I'm going to head outside and get some air, maybe catch a quick nap in the car." And make some phone calls. He no longer had any doubt in his mind that the girl wasn't out to hurt his brother, but there was also no denying that she wasn't quite normal. It couldn't hurt to check into things. Quickly finishing his drink, Sam stood up, "You guys feel free to take your time. No rush."

"Sleep good, Sasquatch."

"We'll be out after awhile, Sammy," Pushing back his chair, Dean finished off his drink before getting to his feet and digging in his pocket for change, "I'm up for a game...and I can 'cause I already did, Tinkerbell. No take backs."

"What are you, three?" Claiming the shortest pool cue she could find, she tipped the glorified stick in his direction, "Rack 'em. We playin' for stakes?"

"Sure." Grinning, Dean set up the table before taking a step back to grab a cue of his own, "You suck at pool so it's a safe bet. The usual?"

"Let's go with somethin' with a little more weight to it." Leaning a hip against the table, she wrapped both hands around the cue, a mischievous smile on her lips, "You swear to behave and you can share the bed with me next time we stop...if you win."

Her first song choice faded out, overlapping into the next song on the list.

"... _is this love that I'm feelin', is this the love that I've been searching for…"_

You know the feeling when you look back at yourself and just cringe? Whitesnake? Really? What was she thinking? Oh, right, she wasn't.

"Alright, sounds fair. Couple of things though." Walking around the table to stand a few inches away from her, mirroring her posture, "First bein' what do you get if I lose? Not that I will."

"If you lose you have to plan our entire date." Which made this a win-win for her. Best kind of bet to place.

"I thought it wasn't a date." Grinning down at her, he caught her by a belt loop and pulled her closer, "Just like I'm not your boyfriend."

"It's not and you're not and that's my story and I'm stickin' to it." Letting herself be drawn up against him, she tilted her head back to look up at him. God, he was fucking tall. Maybe she should get boots with heels, "What was the second thing?"

If he hadn't had her attention before, he certainly would have gotten it when he turned unexpectedly serious. Cupping her face in his free hand, he held her gaze, wanting to make very sure she knew he meant every word, "I might misbehave a little, in fact, that's kind of a guarantee...but I will  _always_  stop when you tell me to. I will never do more than you're comfortable with. Just so we're clear."

He was growing rather fond of how comfortable she was with him and there wasn't a snowball's chance in Hell he was going to do anything to jeopardize that.

"I know." Always had. He was just that kind of guy. With a smile that was all girl and none of the bullshit, she settled her hand on his, "But thanks for sayin' it."

* * *

Gravel crunching under his brown boots, Sam pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and dialed a number from memory, putting it to his ear as he approached the car, "Hey, Bobby. It's uh-it's Sam."

" _Well hey, Sam. Haven't heard from you boys since Dean called a few weeks back about some girl in Reno. That all turn out okay?"_

"Yeah, actually. It's uh-" Laughing softly, Sam turned and leaned back against the hood, free stuffed in the pocket of his tan coat, "Was kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. I need a favor."

" ' _Course you do, boy, why else you idjits ever call me?"_

"Yeah...sorry about that." Shaking his head, a half smile on his lips, Sam figured he'd better get to the point before Bobby lost what little patience he had, "That girl, the one you had Jimmy outfit in Reno, she's uh-Well she's dating Dean and-"

" _...your_ brother,  _Dean?"_

Well, that was a little insulting. He wasn't  _that_ bad.

" _The Dean that had a reputation in three states before he hit eighteen?_ That  _Dean?"_

Okay, so he kind of was that bad at one point. He grew out of it.

"Right?" Laughing, Sam slid back on the hood and laid back against the windshield, free hand behind his head, "Seriously, Bobby, you should see it. It's like a kid with his first crush. I'm not sure I'd believe it if it wasn't happening right in front of me."

" _Well good for him, I guess. What's wrong with her?"_

Like someone that would be willing to date Dean had to have something wrong with her. That's downright offensive. ...shut up.

"Well, I mean, she's actually a really sweet girl." Raising his head to make sure said girl and the guy with her were nowhere to be seen, he laid it back again and stared up at an overcast sky, "But uh-There's an issue…"


	16. Chapter 16

"Another game, Winchester?" Biting her lip, Skye managed not to laugh at the look on his face, "Come on, don't be a sore loser."

"I'm not a sore loser." Giving her a mock-glare over his bottle, he took a long drink from his half-empty beer before setting it on the edge of the table he was leaning back against, "You're a dirty little cheat."

"Yup. To be fair, I never said I wouldn't." Bouncing on her toes, she didn't look the least little bit repentant about it, "At least I have an excuse when I lose. I suck. What's yours? That you're easily flustered?"

"...anybody ever told you that you have a _filthy_  mouth."

"This comes as a surprise to you?" Leaning forward with both hands on the edge of the table, the pool cue propped beside her, a smug smile on her lips as she didn't even try to hide her laughter, "I have an extensive vocabulary and no shame. Think they have an opening at 1-800-SpankMe?"

"I think they'd make one for you." Plucking her pool cue from its spot next to her, he returned both of them to the case before taking her hand and pulling her away from the table, leaning in close to whisper in her ear as he lead her to the jukebox, "Exactly how many issues of Penthouse Forum have you read?"

"What a sweet thing to say...I think." Raising a brow, she didn't voice a protest at being directed elsewhere, expression miraculously transforming into innocence and light, "Recognize some of your own submissions, Winchester? I swear I only read them for the articles."

"Uh-huh. Read a lot of romance novels, didn't you?" Backing her up against the jukebox, he dug into his pocket for a handful of change, not letting her look at what he was choosing, "Desire or Dare?"

"Harlequin? Oh please." Trying to turn her head to look down at the display behind her before he covered her eyes, "Try Jacqueline Carey, Kelley Armstrong and Kim Harrison."

"Supernatural romance? Oh, that's-that's hilariously ironic." Pushing a couple of buttons, Dean smirked down at her, not moving out of the way quite yet, "If you don't read Harlequin, how do you know those are names of their series?"

"How do you?"

"...so, we're gonna just go right on by that one." Tugging her back up to her feet, he lead her a few feet away as music started to play. Something he knew she'd recognize, "Dance with me."

Not a question.

"... _and I know it makes you nervous but I promise you, it's worth it…"_

"Alright, I can let that one slide. For now." Raising a brow, the little half-smile on her lips slipping when the music started, her bravado slipping, "...you don't dance."

"Now you know for a fact that's not true. I can tango." Clasping one of her hands in his, he slowly spun her into his arms, "Badly, but I can."

Not true, he was actually pretty good. Physical competence wasn't really something he had to worry about.

"... _to show 'em everything you kept inside, don't hide…"_

"Okay, you don't dance in  _public._ " one hand resting on his chest, her other found its way to his shoulder, her fingertips resting against the bare skin just above his collar. Of course she wanted to dance with him. Her protests were token at best, her actions shouting several decibels louder than her words.

Not that the public in question cared. Of the dozen other patrons in the bar, plus bartender, seven of them were pretending not to watch the couple with amused and/or understanding expressions, two were glaring at them and the rest simply didn't give a damn.

"Mhm, you're right, I don't." One hand at her hip, he pulled her closer, placing her other hand on his neck before sliding his hand slowly down her arm, fingernails just grazing her skin, "But you do."

"... _too shy to say, but I hope you stay, don't hide away. Come out and play."_

"Oh, nice one. Very smooth." Close enough to smell the scent of the Irish Spring soap he preferred, she rested her forehead against his chest and closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath to steady the rapidly increasing beat of her heart, she caught the faintest trace of leather and lighter fluid. All of it mixed with Dean didn't do a damn thing to slow her pulse. Quite the opposite.

"Thanks, I thought so." Breaking into a broad grin, he laid his cheek against her hair, his demeanor changing subtly as the last song clicked over. Closing his eyes, he could feel his heart stutter in his chest. He knew she still harbored strong doubts about his intentions, a big part of her reluctant to believe he could possibly want anything beyond the purely physical. No big surprise, the girl had issues. Regrettably, he wasn't too good at expressing himself verbally but fortunately a good part of this particular girl's world consisted of music, and that's a language he was comfortable with.

"... _tell me somethin' girl, are you happy in this modern world or do you need more, is there somethin' else you're searchin' for…"_

Faltering after the first few notes, Skye tensed beneath his hands as she recognized the song. He knew she spoke via music a great deal of the time, and she knew he knew, and he couldn't possibly be saying what she thought he might be saying... Lifting her eyes up to find him watching her, "...you're fuckin' with me."

"... _I'm fallin', in all the good times I find myself longin' for change, and in the bad times I fear myself…"_

"No." Shaking his head slowly, more serious than she'd ever seen him. Raising a hand, he curled his fingers around the back of her neck, his thumb grazing her jaw, "I'm not."

" _...tell me something boy, aren't you tired tryin' to fill that void or do you need more, ain't it hard keepin' it so hardcore…"_

"You-" Leaning back to look at up him, her hands sliding down to his chest. She could feel his heart beating every bit as hard and as fast as hers. Biting her lip hard, she had to stop and clear her throat, eyes suspiciously bright, "You can't possibly-"

"... _I'm falling, in all the good times I find myself longing for change, and in the bad times I fear myself…"_

"Yeah." He had his answer. Taking a deep breath, he felt the tightness in his chest loosen and he smiled. For just a little while, he wasn't a Hunter or a killer or somebody's brother or son, he was just Dean, "I can."

"... _I'm off the deep end, watch as I dive in. I'll never meet the ground…"_

Fingers curling tightly around the fabric of the gray button-up he wore, she pulled him down with one hand, the other touching his cheek. Studying his eyes as if she were looking for any trace of a lie or a cruel prank, she was almost confused when she read nothing but simple, irrevocable truth.

"... _Crash through the surface, where they can't hurt us. We're far from the shallow now…"_

The look of bafflement on her face at the thought that somebody might actually love her was as telling as anything she'd ever said aloud. With a thump, his heart constricted at the amount of pain hidden by such a simple expression and he swore to himself he'd do anything he had to to make sure he never saw that look in her eyes again. Resting his forehead against hers, he could smell the sweet scent of her that clung to everything, her warm breath on his lips. Hesitating a hairsbreadth apart, he laughed quietly, "...are you humming Metallica?"

"Shut up and kiss me, Winchester."

* * *

Once upon a time, not too awful long ago, Sam had once wondered which way their relationship would go. Would it be the pain and beauty of an enduring fire or the volatile fleeting glory of an explosion…

The answer was both. Was, is, and always will be.

In life, everyone gets a few precious perfect moments and if they're real lucky, they'll recognize them when they come along. If they're smart, they'll appreciate every second and use it to keep themselves going in the times when everything else loses all meaning. For the briefest moment in time, everything stopped and the world melted away for one very smart, extremely lucky young couple dancing in a dive bar in Knightstown, Indiana.

_I'm off the deep end,_ _Watch as I dive in._ _I'll never meet the ground._ _Crash through the surface,_ _Where they can't hurt us._ _We're far from the shallow now…_

* * *

Tilting back in his chair, Dean looked at his brother as they both listened for the sound of the shower starting, guaranteeing them a good twenty minutes of private conversation, "Somethin' on your mind, Sammy?"

"Yeah, for starters, where did you two disappear to last night?" Not that Sam was sure he wanted to know the answer, but his curiosity wouldn't stop pricking him, "I went back in the bar around three when they started closing up and you were nowhere to be found. Do I even want to know what you were up to until ten this morning?"

"We didn't really go anywhere, just walked around town for awhile." Tilting back in his chair a little further before letting it thump to the ground, Dean laughed, "We didn't really  _do_  anything, just...talked. It was a good night. Why are you bein' so nosy?"

"So you didn't-" Okay, nevermind. Sam rethought that question, not wanting to invite details, "You just look all relaxed and happy. It's an unusual look for you."

"Not that it's your business, but no." They had talked about it though, not that Sam needed to know that. In a surprisingly mature move, Skye had put the brakes on anything happening until they took care of a couple of things like normal adults. Things like birth control. Frustrating, but responsible. He wasn't really used to responsible. Well, not to that level anyway. They 'weren't dating', but they were exclusive about it...apparently. Funny, he always figured he'd be the one with commitment issues. Running a hand through his hair before resting it on the back of his neck, Dean half-shrugged, "Like I said, it was a good night."

They'd gone to breakfast at the Waffle House at daybreak and had pecan waffles and like three pots of coffee. It was a  _great_  night. It had also been a  _long_  night, coffee or no coffee. Stretching languidly, Dean rested his chin on his chest, closing his eyes and cross his arms. Wouldn't hurt to doze for a few minutes. The ringing of his phone brought him out of it a few minutes later, earning a mild curse as he dug his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open without checking the caller ID, "Hello?"

" _Hey Dean, it's Jerry."_

"Oh, hey Jerry." Stifling a yawn, Dean sat up straighter in his chair, answering Sam's 'what's going on' look with a shrug. Like he knew, it had been three seconds. Impatient, "Please tell me this isn't about another plane crash."

" _No. No, nothing like that. I just wanted to call and thank you guys. You saved a lot of lives. They may not know it, but I do, so...thank you. Your Dad's gonna be real proud."_

"Hey, no problem." It was pretty nice to get thanked, it didn't happen as much as you'd think, "Just glad everything worked out. You take care of yourself and give us a call if anything else pops up."

" _Let's hope nothing does."_

Right?

"Oh uh, hey Jerry, I meant to ask you. How'd you get my number? I've only had it for like six months."

" _Your Dad gave it to me."_

...what? "...When did you talk to him?"

" _I didn't exactly talk to him, I called his number and his voice message said to give you a call. Thanks again, guys."_

"Yeah...yeah, you take care of yourself, Jerry." Closing his phone, he let it dangle from his hand as he sat with his wrists on his knees, not relaxed and happy now.

"What's the matter, Dean? What'd he say?"

Holding up a hand, Dean dialed his Dad's number from memory before holding up his ringing phone between him and Sam, both leaning in to listen, " _This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help."_

Letting the voicemail run out, both boys stared at the phone before sharing a look. It didn't make any sense. They must have called that number fifty times, each time it had been out of service. Why would Dad give out their number? Why reactivate his phone and make no effort at all to even let them know he was okay? Each dealt with their disappointment and heartache in their own way, Sammy with his heart on his sleeve, his sweet hazel eyes shining with tears that wanted to fall but wouldn't.

And Dean, well Dean did what he always does. Maintaining a stoic expression, he stuffed it all deep down into a little box and buried it away, where it would hide until it inevitably came back to bite him in the ass. Likely at the worst possible time. Because that's just how this shit works.

By mutual unspoken agreement, the boys started packing, each suddenly eager to put this place in the rearview just as soon as Skye was dressed. Each trying to outrun their own demons. Problem with that is, you can't outrun yourself.


	17. Epilogue

_The Personal Journal of Skye Winchester_

_Yes, before you ask, this family really is that dramatic. No one really does anything by halves around here, you get used to it after awhile._ _And yes, I really played 'Is This Love' by Whitesnake. Don't judge me, I was young._ _There you have it, the beginning of the end, so to speak. Or the end of our beginning?_ _Dean and I weren't apart much after that, never unless we had no other choice._ _Which happens a lot more than I'd like._ _Things are so much more complicated than they seemed then, so much has changed and we are very different people than we were._ _Hopefully maybe a tiny bit smarter and a little bit wiser, but I wouldn't bet on it._ _I think the only thing I can say that hasn't changed in all these years and all this heartache is how Dean and I feel about each other._

_At the end of the day, that's all that's ever mattered and it's been worth every second._


End file.
